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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
In 2022 with funding from 
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https://archive.org/details/playsfrombrowninOOwade 


~ 


PLAYS FROM BROWNING 


Plays from Browning 


Including 


“The Flight of the Duchess” 
“My Last Duchess” ‘‘Porphyria’s Lover’’ 
and *“‘A Light Woman” 


By 
LEILA A. WADE 


1923 


THE CORNHILL PUBLISHING COMPANY 
BOSTON 


Copyrricat, 1923 
Bry THE CORNHILL PUBLISHING COMPANY 


Printed in the United States of America 


THE JORDAN & MORE PRESS 
BOSTON 


id ee 
a. Xe 


17 Ways 0 NAUJOKS 


In appreciation of his valuable criticism and 
kindly encouragement, this book is respectfully 
dedicated to Dr. John Clark Jordan of the Uni- 


versity of Arkansas. 


CONTENTS 


Tue FuicHt oF THE DucHESS 
My Last DucHEss 
PoRPHYRIA’S LOVER 


A Ligut WoMAN 


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THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS 


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THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS 
Act I 


THE COMING OF THE BRIDE 


(The time of the play is Spring. The scene is a por- 
tion of the walk leading from the Dangel Castle to the 
castle gates. 

The dark, arrogant young Duke of Dangel is sitting 
on a garden seat. He is engaged in a careful study of 
some old drawings. 

Orson, a groom, dressed in a heavy hunting costume 
of a medieval style, enters from the left.) 


Orson: Your Grace! 


Duke (inspecting Orson, consulting the drawings): 
Turn around. That costume will do very well. 


Orson (wiping his face): Yes, my lord? 
Duke (impatiently): What is it? 


Orson: Red Berold has been fighting Roland again, 
and .. 


Duke: The brute! 
Orson: Roland is done for, this time. 


Duke: Completely ? 


4 Plays from Browning 


Orson: He will have to be shot. 
Duke: The devil! Well, I leave it to you; Berold is a 


demon. 
Orson: It’s his nature; he’s not mean, really. 


Duke: Stable him if necessary. It will be a pleasure to 
master him. 


Orson: He'll never own a master. 
Duke: That is the one thing he will do. 
Orson: He’ll die first. 

Duke: Just as he chooses. Orson! 
Orson: Yes, my lord. 


Duke: When the carriage comes, go to the gate and 
bring your new mistress here. 


Orson: Very well, my lord. (Exit right.) 
(The tall, painted, yellow Dowager Duchess of 
Dangel enters from the right.) 

D. Duchess: I met Orson just now. 

Duke: Well? 

D. Duchess: That heavy hunting costume is ridiculous 
this hot day. | 

Duke: Nevertheless, I choose to revive every detail of 
the medieval custom. 

D. Duchess (sneeringly): So it would seem; even to 
the choosing of your bride. 


Duke: Why not? I admire the sagacity my ancestors 
manifested by that particular custom. 


The Flight of the Duchess 5 
D. Duchess: On behalf of the late Duke, I thank you. 


Duke: I meant no reflection on my father, but if he 
had desired an obedient duchess—? 


D. Duchess: Yes. 


Duke: You cannot deny that his choice would have 
been wiser if he had followed the ancient practice 
of our house. 


D. Duchess: I neither admit nor deny it. Theoreti- 
cally, you are right; we have yet to see the proof. 


Duke (confidently): I know how to choose a wife. You 
will see that I have made no mistake. 


D. Duchess: Your convent-bred choice may have a 
will of her own. 


Duke: In that case, it will bend to mine. 


D. Duchess: She may refuse the homage and obedience 
you expect. 


Duke: Therein lies the wisdom of my choice. 
D. Duchess: In what way? 


Duke: Being convent-bred, she will know nothing but 
obedience to authority. 


D. Duchess: She may develop. 

Duke: In that possibility lies the crowning beauty of 
the plan. 

D. Duchess: How so? 


Duke: Being parentless, she will have no recourse 
whatever. I can do with her as I wish. 


6 Plays from Browning 


D. Duchess: Cleverly conceived, my son, but you are 
reckoning with unknown blood. 


Duke: My ancestors were successful; I do not fear. 


D, Duchess: That is well, since the die is cast. I shall 
be interested in observing the first lesson in sub- 
ordination. 


Duke (pompously): I shall make no exactions just at 
first. I shall see that she gradually comes to an 
understanding of her situation. 


D. Duchess: No doubt you will. She will see you 
with a broken neck before that time, however, if 
you continue to ride as you did yesterday. 


Duke: Iwas merely the leader in the chase as I should 
have been, according to the feudal custom. 


D. Duchess: Feudal custom? Feudal foolishness! I 
certainly regret that last stay in Paris. 


Duke: Why? 
D. Duchess: It is at the bottom of this nonsense. 


Duke: You call it nonsense? I learned in Paris that 
only my medieval ancestors have been the real 
rulers of their estates. 


D. Duchess: What of it? 


Duke: Only that I, too, mean to rule; I propose to 
restore the castle to its original condition, and to 
govern accordingly. 


The Flight of the Duchess 1 
D. Duchess: So I have heard you say. So I have ob- 


served, still—I cannot become accustomed to 
these—Is not that the carriage coming down 


Walden Hill? 


Duke (indifferently): Yes. Did I tell you that the 
ivy on that left wing is to be cleared away? 


D. Duchess (displeased): You did not. Another cus- 
tom, I suppose? 


Duke: Yes, these cuts show the castle absolutely bare 
during the Black Duke’s reign. 


D. Duchess: Why should you reduce everything to 
ugliness because the Black Duke had no sense of 
beauty? 


Duke: You may as well know that I am planning ex- 
tensive changes in the grounds. 

D. Duchess: Yonder they come. Summon the servants. 

Duke: They are to wait in the hall. 

D. Duchess: Then let us go on to the gate. 

Duke: Orson will bring her here. 

D. Duchess (keenly): What custom is this? 

Duke: The Black Duke— 

D. Duchess: Oh, if that is the case—How very 
small she is! (The Duke rises and stands beside 
his mother.) You did not tell me she was dark. 
(The bride and Orson enter. She is surely the 


smallest lady alive. Her hat is in her hand and 
her hair is hanging in curls. Her dark eyes are 


8 Plays from Browning 


dancing like the May sunshine. The Duke steps 
forward with his grandest smile.) 


Duke: Welcome to Dangel Castle. (Kissing her hand.) 
Permit me, the Duchess of Dangel. My mother, 
the Dowager Duchess of Dangel. 


D. Duchess (bowing): The Duchess of Dangel is wel- 


come. 
Duchess (chilled): Thank you. 


D. Duchess: I trust you are not fatigued? 


Duchess: Not in the least, thank you. I enjoyed the 
ride. (Impulsively.) Oh, I did enjoy it. I never 
dreamed of anything so beautiful as the hedgerows 
in blossom. 


Duke: A very common sight. Was it new to you? 


Duchess: Naturally! This is the first time I have been 
outside the convent walls since my second birth- 
day. (Lifting her arms, stretching herself on tip- 
toe.) I wanted to fly like the birds we saw. Like 
the great bird that circled and circled. 


Duke: An eagle, I suppose? 


Duchess: Yes, I asked its name. (Lifting her arms, 
skipping a step or two, childishly.) I almost 
thought I could fly if I tried. 

(Orson smiles at her appreciatively, the Duke 
tolerantly.) 


Duke: The Duchess of Dangel must be content to 
remain on the ground. 


The Flight of the Duchess 9 


Duchess: Oh, no. (Springing gracefully into the gar- 
den seat.) I can jump if I can’t fly. I have 
dreamed and dreamed of running and jumping. 
(Yearningly.) I want to race between those 
hedgerows. 


D. Duchess: Very unusual custom, I am sure. (Ma- 
liciously, to the Duke.) Did the Black Duke’s 


Duchess race between the hedgerows? 


Duke (with a scowl for his mother): You are jesting, 
of course. The Duchess of Dangel could not so 
far forget her dignity. 


Duchess (sitting down): Indeed, I was quite serious. 
Even though I have always walked primly, the 
desire for swift motion has been mine. 


Duke: We should outgrow our childhood fancies. 
Duchess: But if you have never had a childhood, how 


can you outgrow it? 
Duke: Oh, in that case—Shall we enter? 
Duchess: If you wish. (Wistfully) I should like to 
stay out forever. Oh, what a lovely green cascade! 
Duke: The ivy? It is to be cleared away. 
Duchess: Cleared away? 


Duke: I am restoring the castle to its primitive 
austerity. 


Duchess: But surely the ivy may remain. It is so 
very beautiful. You will destroy it? 


10 Plays from Browning 


Duke: It will be cleared away. 


(The Duke bows to his mother, who precedes him, 
then to his bride. She glances around in a bewil- 
dered fashion. Her face brightens as she meets 
Orson’s friendly glance. She nods to him with a 
quick, bird-like motion. Then, leaning on the 
Duke’s arm, exeunt left. Orson looks after them 
and shakes his head as much as to say, “Poor little 
girl, I saw her first hair turn gray.” He goes 
out right.) 


ACT II 
ScENE 1 
THE SUBORDINATION 


(The time is an early hour on a summer morning. 
The place is the Dangel Stables. The scene shows the 
heavy closed stable doors at center back. The stage 
is bare except for a horse block and a bench or two. 

The Duchess, with a cloak around her shoulders, 
enters from the right. She attempts to open the doors, 
but she has not the strength. She stamps her foot.) 


Duchess: Orson! (Pounding on the door) Oh, Or- 
son! Orson! 


Orson (sliding the door open a little, holding a lighted 
lantern): My lady! 


Duchess: How is he, Orson? 


The Flight of the Duchess 11 


Orson: Pretty bad, the swelling is. I have been bath- 
ing him. How did you know—? 


Duchess: Jacynth told me. I want to see him. 
Orson: He is not a pleasant sight. 


Duchess: That is not his fault. I have brought him 
some sugar. He will feel better when I pet him. 


Orson: Well, here he is, then. (Stepping aside. The 
Duchess enters. Orson stands in the opening hold- 
ing the lantern. ) 


Duchess (in a shocked tone): Oh, Orson— Poor 
Berold— Poor old Red Berold! His eyes— 


Orson, are his eyes out? How pitiful. 


Orson: They are just swollen shut, my lady. 


Duchess: Vm sorry, Berold. There—eat it. We must 
do what we are told. Poor, poor Berold. Tl 
come again. (After a time.) Good-by. 

(The Duchess comes out front. Orson follows, 
closing the stable door behind him.) 


Duchess: Will he die? 


Orson: It’s hard telling. I think not. Dve seen them 
worse than Berold when his Grace breaks them. 


Duchess: Breaks them? Yes, that is it—breaks them. 
Is it necessary to beat them? Is there no other 
way? 


Orson: It is his Grace’s way. I can take them when 
they are colts and gentle them, but his Grace will 
not have them gentled. 


12 Plays from Browning 


Duchess: Did Berold deserve that—that fearful 
punishment? 


Orson: His Grace seemed to think so. He and Berold 
had different ideas of right conduct. 

Duchess: Wouldn’t this be a happy world if each crea- 
ture in it could do what would make it happiest? 


Orson: Why, that was the case once in a garden. 


Duchess: Yes, where the roses were thornless, and no 
discords marred life’s harmony. Orson, why are 


you so happy? 


Orson: Me? Well, it is a pleasure to me to be head 
keeper like my father was. I like to know the 
Duke trusts me. I am happy when I work. I 
am very happy when I think of the little home 


Jacynth and I will have sometime. 


Duchess (enviously): You have a great many things 
to make you happy, while I—but I am going to 
walk in the woods now, and I shall be happy. 
Does it make you glad to see the early morning 
light slanting through the leaves? I am always 
happy in the woods. 


Orson: May I suggest something to you, my lady? 
Duchess: Certainly. 


Orson: If you will not think me impertinent. You see, 
I have known the Duke longer than you have 
known him. 


Duchess: Yes. 


The Flight of the Duchess wis 
Orson: If Berold had done exactly as the Duke wished, 


he would not have beaten him. 


Duchess: Thank you, Orson. I understand. Berold 
only wanted to be free. I fancy we could both be 
happy if we were only understood. 


Orson (kindly): Can’t you make yourself happy, my 
lady? 

Duchess (more brightly): Almost. I am going to try. 
You will bathe his eyes, won’t you? I will come 
in the morning to see if he is any better. Don’t 
you think he likes to have me? 


Orson: I am sure of it, my lady. 


Duchess: Then I will come. Good-by, Orson. (The 
sun is just rising.) I?ll ride away to the woods 
on this first sunbeam. 


Orson: Good-by, my lady. (Exit Duchess.) Poor .- 


little Duchess. (He opens the stable door as the 
curtain falls.) 


ScENE 2 


(The scene of the play is the breakfast room of 
Dangel Castle two hours later than Scene 1. The 
Duke of Dangel is walking with nervous, impatient 
movements up and down the stage, when the Dowager 
Duchess enters.) 


D. Duchess: Jacynth says she has not been in her 
room for two hours. 


Duke: Did she tell Jacynth where she was going? 


14 Plays from Browning 


D. Duchess: No, but Jacynth saw her go toward the 
stables. (Ironically) A visit to the stables before 
breakfast is the medieval custom for a Duchess, I 
suppose. 


Duke (frowning): She will not repeat it; therefore it 
cannot be called a custom. 


D. Duchess: Then her visits to the kennels are a cus- 
tom, since she goes three times each day. 


Duke: I permitted her, as you know, to do those things 
at first. I expected her to come gradually to an 
understanding of her position. 


D. Duchess: The process is gradual at least. Do you 
know where I found her yesterday? 


Duke: Where? 


D. Duchess: Pulling weeds out of a celery bed. I 
asked her if she didn’t know that there were two or 
three gardeners employed for that purpose. 


Duke: What did she say? 


D. Duchess: She said she wanted to work. I think she 
should have been a kitchen maid, Hermann. I told 
you you would be reckoning with unknown blood. 


Duke: The blood does not flow that I cannot tame. 


D. Duchess: Well said! I can help you. I could have 
soon put her down. 


Duke: Where was she yesterday when Lady Carstairs 
called? 


rod 


The Flight of the Duchess 15 


D. Duchess: I think she had gone to talk to that whin- 
ing old Lena Engleking. 
(The voice of the Duchess is heard off stage.) 


Duchess: Oh! Jacynth, may I take them in? 


Jacynth: If you wish, my lady. 
(The Duchess, flushed with exercise, enters, carry- 
ing the flowers for the breakfast room.) 


Duchess: Good morning. I was just in time to bring 
in the flowers. 


Duke: May I ask why you are so late? 
Duchess: Am TI late? I have been in the woods. 


Duke: Ever since you left the house? 

Duchess: No, my lord, I went to the stables first. 
Duke: What induced you to go there? 
Duchess: I went to see Red Berold. 


Duke (sneeringly): To weep tears of sympathy over 
him, I suppose. 


Duchess: Jacynth said last night that Orson was 
afraid— 


Duke (harshly): Afraid of what? 

Duchess: Afraid he was going to die. 

Duke: Because of the punishment I gave him? 
Duchess: Yes, my lord. 


D. Duchess: Is it a custom of yours, Hermann, to 
accept criticism of your actions? 


16 Plays from Browning 


Duchess (hastily): I meant no criticism. I could not 
rest until I saw for myself how badly he was suf- 
fering. 

Duke: Are you satisfied? 

Duchess: He looks quite blind and broken. 

Duke (grimly): He must acknowledge that I am his 
master. 

Duchess: Was it necessary to be so—so severe? 

D. Duchess: What was the medieval custom, Hermann? 

Duke: You will keep away from the stables in the 
future. 

Duchess: Oh, but I like— (Meekly) Very well, my 


lord. I promised Orson— 


Duke: 1 thoroughly disapprove of your intimacy with 
the servants. 


Duchess: Intimacy? 


Duke: Yes. You talk continually to Orson and to 
Jacynth, to the housekeeper and to any other ser- 
vant you happen to fancy. 


Duchess: They—are very kind to me. 


Duke: A Duchess should understand her position bet- 
ter than to ask favors of a servant, as you did just 
now. You must cultivate dignity. 

D. Duchess: Tf you have finished Jacynth’s task, I will 
ring for breakfast. | 

Duchess (hurriedly placing the last flowers in the 
vase): I have done. 


The Flight of the Duchess 17 


Duke: 'To be seen in the proper place at the proper 
time is what I expect of you. 


Duchess (cowed): Yes, my lord. (Bell rings.) 


ScENE 38 


(The time is Autumn. The place is the dressing 
room of the Duchess of Dangel. We see, in addition, 
a hallway on the left and a balcony at the right. A 
latticed window overlooks the baleony. A bird cage 
containing a song bird is hanging in the window at 
center back. It seems incongruous with the massive, 
antique furnishings of the room. 

When the curtain rises, Jacynth, who is a bright, 
attractive maid, is discovered putting the room to 
rights. Orson appears on the balcony at the right and 
taps on the latticed window.) 


Orson: Jacynth! 


Jacynth (going to the window, lowering it): You had 
best not be tapping on my lady’s window. 


Orson: How am I to see you before I go to work if I 
don’t tap? 


Jacynth: Perhaps you don’t need to see me? 


Orson: But I want to. Is my lady going on the hunt 
tomorrow? 


Jacynth: I don’t know. Why? 


Orson: She looks so pale. I think the ride would be 
good for her. 


18 Plays from Browning 


Jacynth: I don’t know what the old Duchess would say. 


Orson: Nothing, if it suits his Grace for my lady to go. 
I’m thinking you may go yourself, Jacynth, if my 
lady does. 


Jacynth: It is likely. 


Orson: If you can, encourage her to go. I almost know 
from what the Duke said last night that he expects 
her to go. 


Jacynth: Then she will need no encouragement from 
ME} phy 


Orson: No, perhaps not. Well, I must go. Just one 
kiss, my rosebud. 


Jacynth: No, what have you done to deserve it? Well, 
there, you may kiss my hand like I was a great 
lady. 


Orson: I’m glad you're not if this is the way they act. 
Good-by. 
Jacynth: Good-by. 


(Jacynth is still straightening the room when the 
Duchess enters.) 


Duchess: Good morning, Jacynth. 


Jacynth: Good morning, my lady. 
(The Duchess seats herself and Jacynth brushes 
her hair.) 


Jacynth (as the bird begins a melancholy chirping) : 
Listen to him, my lady. Do you know what he is 
saying? 


The Flight of the Duchess 19 


Duchess: Yes, indeed, Jacynth. He says the sunshine 
has gone away over the hills, and he wants to fol- 
low it. 


Jacynth (admiringly): Exactly. But I couldn’t have 
told you. 


Duchess: His wild brothers and sisters follow the sum- 
mer. Perhaps they called a farewell to him in 
passing. 

Jacynth: I wonder now if they did. Of course, then, 
he would be sad. 

Duchess: How he would fly if he were free! 


Jacynth: For the most part, he seems perfectly happy 
caged. 


Duchess: Nothing is perfectly happy caged. 
(The Duchess dismisses Jacynth as the Duke 
enters. ) 

Duchess: That will do, Jacynth. You may go. 

Duke: I have a pleasure in store for you. 

Duchess (incredulously): A pleasure? 

Duke (nettled): Are pleasures, then, so rare in your 
life? 

Duchess: Excuse my unfortunate manner. To what 
do you refer? 


Duke (pompously): You understand the pride I take 
in reviving the customs of my ancestors. 


Duchess: Yes, my lord. 


20 Plays from Browning 


Duke: I thought in this revival of a hunting party 
there should be some means of including you. 
(The Duchess bows.) There are none on record, 
but Darnly remembers to have heard of a custom 
which was in vogue during the Black Duke’s reign 
four centuries ago. The Lady of the Castle rode 
forth on a jennet, and assisted at the disemboweling 
of the game by washing the hands of her liege in 


an ewer. 
Duchess: Do you intend that I—? 


Duke: Yes, you may perform that service for me to- 
morrow. 


Duchess (languidly, scarcely liftmg her long dark 
lashes): You are very kind, but I beg to decline. 


Duke: Decline! Why, everything is in readiness. The 
ewer is polished, and— 

Duchess: If my health is of any importance to you, 
my lord, you will not urge me to go. 


Duke: Health! The ride will do you good. I have 
selected your mount myself, black barred, cream- 
coated, and pink eye-balled. 

Duchess: I am sorry, but I feel that I must decline. 

Duke: I desire you to go and that is sufficient. 


Duchess (with a flash of her former spirit): I decline 
your invitation, and that is sufficient. 
(The Duke looks at her in silent astonishment. He 
leaves the room abruptly and returns almost im- 
mediately with the Dowager Duchess.) 


——— 


The Flight of the Duchess 21 


D. Duchess (in a tone of ironic enjoyment): So you 
refuse to conform to the medieval custom? 

Duchess: My health, my lady, requires me to stay 
indoors. 

D. Duchess: Nonsense! You are spoiled and obstinate. 
I told you, Hermann, how she would be. 


Duke: It is time you understood your situation. I 
have waited long enough to explain it. 


Duchess: My situation? My unhappy situation? Can 
it be explained? 


D. Duchess: Have you ever wondered why Hermann 
married you? 


Duchess: Why? (Blankly.) His reason? Your rea- 
son for marrying me? 


D. Duchess: He did so against my wishes. 


Duchess (with spirit): His reason does not interest me. 
The Mother Superior said it was my duty to 
marry him. It was not for me to question her 
decision. 


D. Duchess (to the Duke): Shall I tell her, Hermann, 
that you married her according to the custom of 
your ancestors? 


Duchess: I fail to understand you. 


D. Duchess (explaining with enjoyment): Hermann 
desired perfect obedience in a wife; so he chose 
you. 


22 Plays from Browning 


Duchess (proudly): Your choice, my lord, might have 
been wiser. 


Duke: IY may add that I chose you because you are 
absolutely alone in the world, and because (deliber- 
ately) you have no choice but to obey my will. 


Duchess: Obey you contrary to my own opinion? 

D. Duchess: You may as well realize that your opinion 
is absolutely worthless. 

Duchess: It is of value to me, my lady. 

Duke: Understand this, I am the master of my castle 
and of its inmates. No more need be said. 

D. Duchess: You, you actually oppose the Duke of 
Dangel? 

Duchess: I have wanted nothing but to be happy. 


Duke: Your obstinacy has prevented you. I merely 
insist upon obedience. Do as I wish, and you will 
be happy enough. 


D. Duchess: I advise you to think the situation over. 
When you realize how utterly helpless you are, you 
will change your behavior. 


Duke: We need not refer to this again. You will be 
ready for the hunt tomorrow. 


D. Duchess: The custom must be upheld. (Exeunt 
Duke and Dowager Duchess. The Duchess buries 
her face in her hands as the curtain falls. ) 


The Flight of the Duchess 23 


ACT III 
ScENE 1] 
THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS 


(The time of the play is the morning following the 
preceding scene. The Duke is discovered dressed for 
the hunt, standing before the castle gates. He is idly 
flecking his whip at the dogs which fawn around his 
feet. The Dowager Duchess comes through the gate.) 


D. Duchess: She absolutely refuses to go. She insists 
that she is ill. 


Duke: She does it to spite me. 


D. Duchess (maliciously): How contrary to custom! 
You seem unsuccessful, Hermann, in receiving 1m- 
plicit obedience. 


Duke (haughtily): Another time she will do as I wish. 
D. Duchess: That remains to be seen. 


Duke: See to it that she keeps her room. Set Jacynth 
to guard her door. 


D. Duchess: As you wish, my dear Hermann. Your 
orders shall be obeyed. ( Exit.) 


(A snatch of rollicking gypsy music is heard off 
stage. A troop of gypsies, carrying the usual 
paraphernalia, cross the stage. One old crone, bent 
half double, detaches herself from the group and 
approaches the Duke. She holds out her hand, 
saying in a level whine) : 


24 Plays from Browning 


Gypsy: This dog whistle is cheap. Dve made it for 
you. Only a little money will buy it. (The Duke 
shakes his head.) It is cheap. Here is a porcelain 
mouthpiece to screw on a pipe end. Your Grace 
cannot do without it. A poor gypsy does not ask 
much. A beautiful piece. How can poor gypsies 
live if the lords will not buy? Let me tell your 
fortune. I will tell your fortune for one piece of 
gold. Your Grace would like to know what is go- 
ing to happen. Much will come to pass. A gypsy 
can tell you the secrets of the future for a very 
little gold. (The Duke shakes his head, con- 
temptuously.) I have come to pay my respects 
to the beautiful new Duchess if it please your 
Grace. 


Duke (suddenly, with an evil smile): She is ill, could 
you cure her? 


Gypsy: Oh, yes, my lord. What is her disease? 
Duke: Youth and obstinacy. 

Gypsy (keenly): She does not do as my lord wishes? 
Duke: She pretends she is sick. She is a baby. She 


needs weaning. A taste of life and sorrow would 


be good for her. 
Gypsy: What does my lord desire? 
Duke: She must do as I wish. 


Gypsy: Yes. Would it please your Grace if she was 
too frightened to be sick again? 


The Flight of the Duchess 25 


Duke: You will receive gold for it. She is forward 
and ungrateful. 
(A hunting horn is heard off stage.) 


Gypsy: Leave her to me. She will be afraid to be sick 
again. Afraid for her very life. 
(The Duke silences her as Orson enters.) 


Orson: The horses are ready, your Grace. 


Duke: Very well. (A second horn sounds.) Orson, 

the Duchess is ill. Take this gypsy woman to her 
room, and set her to telling a good gypsy story. 
She can while away the time for the Duchess until 
our return. 
(Exeunt Gypsy and Orson. The Duke looks after 
them with a sinister, satisfied smile. Horns sound, 
dogs bark. The Duke starts off left as the curtain 
falls.) 


ScENE 2 


(The scene is the dressing room of the Duchess as in 
Act II, Scene 8. When the curtain rises, Jacynth is 
seen at the left, sitting in the hallway with her head 
against the door of the Duchess’ room. She is asleep. 
Orson is by the latticed window in the balcony. He is 
looking into the room as though absorbed in the scene 
before him. 

The gypsy in a low chair in the center of the room 
is sitting as erect as a queen on her throne. She is 
speaking and in her voice is all the music of the “Pipes — 
o Pan.” The Duchess, with sparkling eyes and flushed 
cheeks, is seated at the gypsy’s feet, drinking in her 
words as though they were life itself.) 


26 Plays from Browning 


Gypsy: We will follow the patteran, which will lead us 
to the best life can offer. The journey will be your 
probation. When it is ended, I will place you in 
the midst of my tribe, and describe how you have 
borne the long and terrible trials. We know our 
kind. My people will not deny you when I trace 
for them these veins (placing her fingers on the 
Duchess’ brow) which meet and part making our 
rapid “mystic mark.” Neither will you deny us, 
for gypsy heart reaches out after gypsy heart as 
surely as the full moon draws the tides, or the red 
sun calls to the sleeping buds in the springtime. 

I will bid my people prove and probe each eye’s 
profound and glorious globe till they detect the 
kindred spark in those depths so dear and dark, 
like spots that snap and burst and flee, circling 
over the midnight sea. 


Duchess (fascinated): Perhaps I do belong to you. I 


do not know who my parents were. 


Gypsy: We care not. Blood of our blood flows through 
your veins—to send you roaming through the 
green with us, and walking in the magic of the 
forest. 


Duchess: Perhaps it has been urging me all these years, 
and I did not understand. Am I strong enough to 
endure the trials? 


Gypsy: Yes. If that brow is true and those eyes are 
sure. Trial after trial past, the gorgio life for- 
gotten, you will fall into our arms at last breath- 
less with the thrill of the great deliverance. 


Duchess: 


how 


The Flight of the Duchess 27 


Deliverance! Yes, it would be that. But 
am I fitted to follow your life? 


Gypsy: You are fitted to adore, 


Duchess: 


Gypsy: 


Duchess: 


Gypsy: 


Duchess: 


To give your wondrous self away, 
And take a stronger nature’s sway. 

I foresee and could foretell 

Your future portion sure and well. 
But those passionate eyes speak true, 
Speak true. 

Let them say what you will do. 


But if I should fail to stand the tests? 


You may be sure your daily life 

In its peace or in its strife, 

Never shall be unobserved; 

We pursue your whole career, 

And hope for it nor doubt nor fear. 


And if I make mistakes? 


We are beside you in all of your ways 
With our blame, with our praise, 
Our shame to feel, our pride to show, 
Glad, angry, but indifferent,—No! 


My heart leaps up. It is singing to me, if I 


knew— 


Gypsy: You shall know. 


Our arms once curled about you, 
What we knew before, 

That love is the only good in the world. 
Henceforth be loved as heart can love, 


28 Plays from Browning 


Or brain devise or hand approve! 
Stand up, look below. 

It is our life at your feet we throw, 
To step with into light and joy. 


(The Gypsy rises, and holds out her hand to the 
Duchess.) 

Come, let us go together, let us follow the pat- 
teran, over the morning hills and through the twi- 
light valleys. Under the lordly skies we will go our 
ways, glad to live and glad to die, laughing and 
free, living and loving. We offer you life and love. 
(The Duchess suddenly springs to her feet. She 


runs to a closet, and seizes a riding habit.) 


Duchess: I will go. Oh, to be free! Jacynth! Free of 


customs, of coldness and criticism! Jacynth! 


Gypsy: I will help you if you need; Jacynth sleeps as 
I decreed. 


Duchess: Free to race through the hawthorn lanes, to 
sit by the camp fire—to dance—to sing—to live—! 
(Orson rubs his eyes dazedly, and steals from the 
balcony as the curtain falls.) 


SCENE 8 


(The scene is the same as Act II, Scene 1. Orson 
enters hastily and drops down on one of the benches 
before the stable door. He rubs his eyes from time to 
time as though dazed. The Duchess and the Gypsy 
enter. ) 


Duchess: I am like the birds, Orson. I am going to 
follow the summer. 


The Flight of the Duchess 29 
Orson: My lady! 


Duchess (radiantly): Yes, follow the summer and be 
happy! Happy! Happy as the birds themselves. 


Orson: God grant you may be! 
Duchess: Thank you, Orson. 


Orson: You must know that I am your servant to live 
or to die. 


Duchess: Orson! 


Orson: Let me go with you, my lady. Let me serve 
you wherever you go. 


Duchess: How kind you are! But I cannot permit you 
to leave Jacynth and your duties here for me. 


Orson: I would dance on hot ploughshares to serve you. 
Duchess: I believe you. 


Orson: Never forget that I am in readiness if ever God 
pleases that you need me. 


Duchess (touched): I'll not forget. . 
Orson: Vl get your horse. 


Duchess (drawing a plait of hair from her bosom) : 
Keep this as a token of my esteem. 


Orson: I shall wear it on my breast till the Day of 
Judgment. 


Duchess: I hope to see you before that time. When 
you are released here, will you come to me? 


30 Plays from Browning 


Orson: Then, or when you will. I will saddle your 
mount, my lady. 
(Exit through door.) 


Duchess (gazing off into space, stretching her arms, as 
though to herself): I will follow the patteran. I 
will take “the wings of the morning.” 


ACTIV 
ScENE 1 
THE GYPSY QUEEN 


(The time is April. The place is a flowery dingle 
with moss-covered knoll at center back. When the 
curtain rises, the Duchess, dressed in a gypsy cos- 
tume, is seen sitting on the knoll. She seems to be 
listening to the birds sing. Presently she rises and 
begins to dance. She hums as she dances and soon the 
words of her song become audible. She sings simply.) 


Duchess: Joyfully I dance in the golden noon, 
The golden April noon; 
Oh, birds that fly, 
That flit and fly, 


Ye are not so free as I. 


Happily I race with the merry moon, 
The merry midnight moon; 

Oh, clouds on high 

That sail the sky, 

Ye are not so free as I. 


The Flight of the Duchess 31 


(A gypsy man enters from the left. He has an 
intelligent forehead, dark eyes, well shaped lips, 
and a graceful, muscular body. He steps forward 
as though he would join the Duchess in her dance. 
She eludes him and seats herself on the knoll. He 
sits beside her.) 


Gypsy: Did you find the roses I dropped for you? 

Duchess: At the turning of the patteran I found two 
red roses. 

Gypsy: Did you read their message? 

Duchess: I—I don’t know. 

Gypsy: You did. Your heart could not mistake it. 
Your eyes say you understood. Your cheeks 
answer like a blood Romany. 

Duchess: How good it is to live. 

Gypsy: Yes, to live and love. 

Duchess: Oh yes, to love the grass that bends, the trees 
that toss the white clouds on and on, the rain 
that— 

Gypsy: And a poor gypsy man. 

Duchess: I did not say so. 

Gypsy: But you meant it. Make the sunlight dance 
for me once more. 


Duchess: Could I do that? 


Gypsy: You alone possess the magic. I say to myself, 
“She is a gorgio. She will never love a gypsy 
man.” Then the sunbeams stand still on the tree 
tops. 


32 Plays from Browning 


Duchess: Poor gypsy man. 


Gypsy: I ee “She is at heart a blood Romany. She 
loves me.” Straightway the winds are vasa 
and I walk down a rainbow trail. 


Duchess: But I was born a gorgio. I am the wife 
Olas 


Gypsy: Never in truth! You were once held in a cruel 
enchantment, but now you are free. 


Duchess: I am free, and yet I am bound. 


Gypsy: Only because you refuse to break the spell. 
You fail to understand the shining great truth 
because you are blinded by a partial truth. 


Duchess: What truth do I fail to understand? 


Gypsy: That the law which transcends al! other laws 
is the law of love. Your heart to my heart, the 
world to enjoy—. 


(There is heard off stage a confused murmur of 
voices. ‘Two gypsy men enter, carrying the aged 
queen of the gypsies. The Duchess and her lover 
start to their feet. ‘The Duchess is astonished. 
The men place their burden on the knoll. The 
members of the tribe fill the stage.) 


Queen (slowly) : Death is—sweeter—in the open. (The 
women sob.) Do not weep, let my death be as I 
planned it—glad as life. (After a time.) Sing 
the song I taught you. 


The Flight of the Duchess 33 


(The members of the tribe sing and dance to a 
weird, stirring melody.) 
Death! Death! 
We dance to greet thee, 
Down the long, long patteran. 
While the gypsy trail winds on, 
And the gypsy heart beats strong, 
Lo, brave and bold we meet thee, 
Nor fear thy sting. 
Our life was gay, 
Thy bitter sting, 
Thou hast thy day, 
Death! Death! 


(The Duchess kneels by the dying queen, unable to 


repress her sobs.) 


Queen (kindly): Why do you weep? Life was good— 
I am ready—to pay. 
Duchess: You have been so kind to me! 


Queen: We know our kind. Like the prisoned bird you 
were pining. We offered you life. Did I speak 
truly? Was it life we offered you? 


Duchess: It was life—and—and— 
Queen: And love? (Eagerly.) Say, was it love? 
Duchess: Such love as I have never known. 


Queen (triumphantly): We know our kind. Shall you 


leave my people when I am gone? 


Duchess: Does the freed bird seek its cage? 


34 Plays from Browning 


Queen: I want—you to take my place, to be the leader 
of my people. 


Duchess (simply): I will try to serve them. 


Queen (to the tribe) ): Follow her as you have followed 
me. Gypsy heart after gypsy heart, over the trail, 
glad and free. 

(The Queen is silent. Her eyes are closed. Sud- 
denly she looks at the Duchess and speaks imperi- 
ously.) Dance our Spring dance. 

(The Duchess rises hesitantly.) 


Gypsy Lover: Dance for her, my Queen. 
(Under the fire of those dying eyes, slowly as the 
first flushing of the morning skies, the Duchess 
begins to dance. Imperceptibly as a rose unfurls, 
her motions quicken. Soon she dances with “the 
first fine, careless rapture” of a chaffinch, “singing 
on an orchard bough.” 


The gypsies standing around, the dying figure 
on the knoll, all are forgotten. She feels only the 
joy of living. She sees only the compelling eyes of 
her gypsy lover. In the background, the aged 
Queen silently and bravely pays in one moment 
“all glad life’s arrears.” ‘The gypsies kneel rever- 
ently in the foreground, the new Queen dances for- 
ward into the arms of her lover.) 


Duchess (clinging to him): It is true, she taught the 
truth. 


Gypsy Lover: What, my heart? 


Duchess: ‘Love is the only good in the world.” 


The Flight of the Duchess 35 


EPILOGUE 


(The time is many years later; the scene is a lane 
between hedgerows. An old thief and son of Lucifer, 
an aged gypsy man, is sitting in the shade. He is sun- 
burned all over like an thiop, and his forehead is 
chapleted green with wreathy hop.) — 

(Orson, white haired, but strong and erect, enters. 
He is carrying a staff shaped like a javelin. In his 
left hand is a well-filled wine bag.) 


Orson: Good afternoon, gypsy. May I rest in the 
shade with you? 


Gypsy: The shade is free to bird and man. 


Orson (seating himself): True! Do the gypsies camp 
near? 


Gypsy: Around the curve in the patteran. 


Orson: You gypsies are a strange folk. (Pouring wine 
into a tin cup.) Will you drink with me? 


Gypsy: That I will. (Drinks.) What wine is this? 
Orson: We call it “Cotnar.” 
Gypsy: It’s the springtime, bud and bloom. 


Orson: You can’t find better; it is as old as the time 


of the Druids. 


Gypsy: A little more, and I could follow the trail as I 
used to do. Have you more, good Sir? 


Orson: No, but here is enough to give your heart and 
soul a stir up. 


36 Plays from Browning 


Gypsy: It makes me think of my gypsy lass running 
down the trail with me. 


Orson: It’ll give your life’s hour glass a shake when 
the sand doubts whether to run on or to stop 
short! 


Gypsy (eyeing the bag curiously): That is a fine bag. 


It never came from near here. 


Orson: You are right. It came from the Duke’s own 
cellar. 


Gypsy: The Duke of Dangel! 


Orson: The same. You knew he was dead, perhaps? 


Gypsy: No. The old, yellow Duchess is dead too? 
She used to rate us when we passed. Her tongue 
was a frost, a biting frost. 


Orson: A bad time enough we had of it between the 
Duke and her after the little Duchess joined your 
tribe. 


Gypsy (drinking): Well, they are gone now, and 
we drink their wine. ‘“Cotnar,” did you say? 


Orson: Yes. (Musingly.) My wife and babies, too— 
all gone the way of the roses. 


Gypsy: It is the way of life. Yesterday I was a lad 
with my ear pressed close to the earth to feel the 
thunder. I kept pace with the winds themselves 
as I followed our Queen over the hills and by the 
sea. ‘Those days are gone as all things go in the 
end—birds and flowers, tribes and queens. 


The Flight of the Duchess 37 


Orson: Yes. Did you ever know what fortune attended 
the little lady your Queen befriended? 


Gypsy: “The little lady?” There could be but one; 
so made in a piece of nature’s madness. ‘Too 
small, almost for the life and gladness that over- 
filled her. It is she you mean, who fled from the 
Duke’s prison into the sunshine? You knew her? 


Orson: Yes. I was the man the Duke spoke to. I 
helped the Duchess to cast off his yoke. 


Gypsy: She was our Queen in time. We heaped the 
crimson roses for her throne. She was active, 
stirring, all afire, could not rest, could not tire. 
To a stone she might have given life! She was 
our April morning, and we followed her. 


Orson: So she was—an April morning. 


Gypsy (softly): She will never race between the hedge- 
rows again. She, too, has gone “the way of the 
roses.” 


Orson (much affected by the news of the Duchess’ 
death): Now up, now down, the world’s one see- 
saw too hard, I say, for my explaining. 

(He secretly empties the contents of a vial into a 
tin cup, and pours in some Cotnar.) 


Gypsy (rising): Come to the camp with me. We will 


make you welcome. 


Orson: Thank you. I have found a snug corner under 
the hedge here. Tl turn myself around and bid 
the world good-night. After that— 


38 Plays from Browning 
Gypsy: You will come? 


Orson: Yes, when the trumpet’s blowing wakes me. 
(The Gypsy goes off the stage, and the curtain 
falls, as Orson composes himself for sleep.) 


MY LAST DUCHESS 


. “AG 
ie Hi ty 
aS 
ry 


MY LAST DUCHESS 
ScENE 1 


(The scene of the play is Ferrara, in North Italy. 
The play opens in a garden near the castle of the Duke 
of Este. 

The Duchess of Este is seated near a replica of the 
beautiful bronze “David” which Donatello designed 
for Cosimo de Medici. In the background is a statue 
of Neptune taming a sea horse. 

The Duchess is, probably, twenty-two years of age. 
She is slender and of medium height. Her hair is 
dark, with a warm bronze tint. She is wearing a green 
velvet gown with cream-colored lace at the neck. A 
lace mantle is around her shoulders. 

When the curtain rises, she is sitting as though she 
were in a reverie, tapping her foot absent-mindedly. 

The Duke of Este passes along a garden walk at 
the back of the stage, and disappears into the shrub- 
bery. Presently, he enters from the left carrying a 
corsage bouquet of pale yellow roses. 

The Duke is forty years old. He is tall, with a 
haughty carriage of the head and shoulders, which 
makes him seem even taller than he really is. His eyes 
are cold and searching. His face would appear impas- 
sive were it not for the look of extreme pride which is 
its habitual expression. 

He presents the flowers to the Duchess. She fastens 
them to her bodice. ) 


42 Plays from Browning 
Duke: Fra Pandolf is unpacking his easel. 


Duchess: I am ready. 


Duke: He will be here soon. I wish to show him through 
the East Gallery before he begins painting. 


Duchess (regretfully): Then I might as well have gone 
into the orchard with Gaetano. — 


Duke: Gaetano? 
Duchess: He wanted me to go. 


Duke: The Duchess of Este should know better how to 
choose her friends. 


Duchess (a hurt expression in her eyes): I am sorry, 
my lord, if my choice of friends does not meet 
with your approval. 


Duke: Learn the disgraceful history of Gaetano’s par- 
entage, and you will understand the cause of my 
disapproval. 


Duchess: Pardon me, but it is because I heard his piti- 
ful story that I became interested in him. 


Duke: How came you to hear his story, may I ask? 
Duchess: Father Caponsacchi told it to me. 

Duke: May I ask why? 

Duchess (innocently): I asked him. 


Duke (coldly): Which would seem to betray a previous 
interest in the subject of the story. 


Duchess: Oh—I had seen .. . 


My Last Duchess 43 


Duke (haughtily): Excuse me. (He bows and goes 
out right. He crosses the stage at the back, pres- 
ently, and passes out at the left back.) 

(The Duchess rises and walks restlessly back and 
forth. Her countenance lights up as Gaetano 
enters. Gaetano is eighteen, rather mature for his 
years, yet with an engaging boyishness of de- 
meanor. He is dark, eager, and extremely hand- 
some. He smiles gaily, and holds out a bough of 
cherries toward the Duchess.) 


Duchess (smiling, reaching out her hand for the fruit) : 
For me, Gaetano? Did you break them for me? 


Gaetano (expressively): From the very heart of the 
orchard, for you. 


Duchess (seating herself): They are so red. (Ad- 
miringly) The great sun has given them of his fire. 


Gaetano (sitting beside her): Yes, they are red, but 
(jealously, observing the Duke’s favor) they are 
not redder than the roses I shall bring you when 
the dew is on them. 


Duchess: You are so good to me, Gaetano. (Yearn- 
ingly) I wish my little son had lived to be as kind 
to me, when I am old. 


Gaetano (sympathetically): Fate has been unkind to 
both of us. Unkinder to me than to you. Your 
baby died a natural death. Think what I must 
suffer when I recall the revolting murder of my 
mother. My poor little mother—stabbed brutally 
twenty-two times, five deadly, while I slept, no 


44 Plays from Browning 


doubt, and the moon shone calmly over Italy. (In 
a tone of keenest sorrow) Twenty-two dagger 
wounds, by my father’s wish, in her sweet, white 
body! 

Duchess: Your father, Guido, has paid the penalty for 
his crime. You were an infant; you could do 
nothing to prevent it. You should not grieve 
endlessly over the tragedy. Pompilia is at rest 

now. She would be proud of her son if she were 
living. 

Gaetano: Only two weeks—two short weeks was all 
the time she had in which to love me. (In an awed 
tone) I dreamed of her last night. She was 
standing dressed in white, with red roses at her 
breast. 


Duchess: It is because of your recent knowledge of the 
tragedy that you suffer, now, so keenly. Time 
will do much to blunt the edge of your grief. 


Gaetano: To think—I have lived all of these years 
without knowing the truth— 


Duchess: It was better for you not to know. Father 
Caponsacchi would have kept it from you longer 
if he could have done so. 


Gaetano: I know it. He did right to tell me the whole 
story, though, after I overheard part of it. 


Duchess: Yes, you could bear the story better from 
his kind lips, but you are young, Gaetano, to 
assume the burden of sorrow which seems to be 
each one’s portion. 


My Last Duchess 45 


Gaetano: You, too, are unhappy. (Passionately) I 
would die to make you happy, and he will not even 
smile. 


Duchess: Hush—you must not talk in that way. I am 
not unhappy. His Grace does not understand me. 
It is my fault. 


Gaetano: He does not feel. He is cold as that bronze 
David.” 


Duchess: Let us speak of something else. 


Gaetano: Forgive me. (To change the conversation) 
Did I tell you that Father Caponsacchi wants to 
send me to Rome to complete my education? 


Duchess: Did you agree to go? 

Gaetano (eagerly): Would my going please you? 
Duchess: Would you go to please me? 

Gaetano (simply): I would do anything to please you. 


Duchess (impulsively, taking his hand): Then become 

the great, good man which you are capable of 
becoming. 
(The Duke appears in the walk at the back of the 
stage. He is accompanied by Fra Pandolf. ‘The 
Duchess, in some confusion, withdraws her hand 
from Gaetano’s as they enter. She greets Fra 
Pandolf.) 


Duke: Fra Pandolf is ready to begin painting. 


Duchess: I, too, am ready. (To Fra Pandolf) Where 
shall I place myself? 


46 Plays from Browning 


Fra Pandolf (looking around): Over there, where you 
were sitting. 
(The Duchess seats herself. Fra Pandolf pro- 
ceeds to adjust his easel, and to mix his paints.) 


Duchess (smiling toward Gaetano, but speaking to the 

Duke): Gaetano was just telling me that he is 
going to Rome to study. 
(The Duke bows, but makes no comment. The 
Duchess tries again. She holds up the bough of 
cherries.) Are not these cherries beautiful? 
Gaetano gathered them for me. 


Duke: They spoil your roses. 
Duchess: Oh, they were not intended for adornment. 


Fra Pandolf: 1 disdain to paint them, your Grace. 

Their color is not comparable to that in my lady’s 
cheeks. 
(The Duke bows with the utmost haughtiness 
in acknowledgment of this compliment to his 
Duchess. The Duchess looks unhappy. Gaetano’s 
eyes flash. He walks up to the Duchess and says 
in a low tone): 

Gaetano: May I bring your roses after the dew falls? 

Duchess (shaking his hand, kindly): Yes. Good-by, 
Gaetano. 

(He bows to the Duke. Exit.) 


Fra Pandolf: I can finish the portrait today if this 
light holds. (He studies the Duchess for a mo- 
ment.) That is good, but my lady’s mantle laps 
over her wrist too much. 


My Last Duchess 47 


(The Duchess smiles, and rearranges her mantle. 
The Duke looks on, his attitude indicative of dis- 
pleasure. ) 


Fra Pandolf (talking as he works): I could paint the 
cherries more easily. Paint must never hope to 
reproduce the faint half flush that dies along the 
throat. 

(The Duchess blushes, but makes no comment.) 


Duke: I leave you to your painting. (He bows to the 
Duchess, and walks off right as the curtain falls.) 


ScENE 2 


(The scene is the same. “The moon is pouring a 
flood of poetry from heaven to earth.’”’ In the shrub- 
bery a nightingale is singing. 

The Duchess is seen, walking slowly along the eth 
at the back of the stage. She enters from the right, 
and continues to stroll, restlessly, back and forth. She 
is dressed in white, with a filmy scarf around her 
shoulders. She pauses by the bronze statue, and 
apparently listens to the nightingale.) 


Duchess (placing her hand on the statue): Oh, David, 
I, too, used to sing. (Musingly) Not like that 
bird, more like a speckled-breasted bird I heard 
one morning in an English wood. (After a pause) 
How I envy you, David. You do not feel. You 
are indifferent, alike, to the rising of the moon, to 
the circling of the stars. (She leans silently 
against the statue until Gaetano enters.) 


48 Plays from Browning 


Gaetano: I have brought the roses, my lady. (Hand- 
ing them to her, boyishly) Do you see the dew on 
them? 


Duchess: Like pearls in the moonlight. How very 
beautiful they are. Here is one for you, Gaetano. 


Gaetano: I will treasure it always. It shall be my 
talisman when I go away to Rome. 


Duchess: I shall be lonely when you are gone. 
Gaetano: Then I will stay. 


Duchess: No, no. I desire you to go. Perhaps you 
may learn how good life can be if we live it rightly. 
Pompilia would have wanted you to go. I want 
you to develop into the kind of man I once hoped 
my little son would become. 


Gaetano: I will do my best, my lady. 
Duchess: I have faith in you, Gaetano. 
Gaetano: I should not hesitate to goif... 
Duchess: If what? 


Gaetano: If you were happy. I saw how he looked 
today. (Wrathfully) If he would only say some- 
thing—I saw how he made you feel. 


Duchess: Oh hush, Gaetano, you must not talk in that 
way. You did not see my portrait after it was 


finished. 


Gaetano: It could not be so beautiful as you. 


My Last Duchess 49 


Duchess: You flatter me. I never looked one-half so 
well. 
(The Duke appears at the back of the stage. He 


pauses a moment and then goes out left.) 


Gaetano (simply): You are more beautiful to me than 
the noontide when it is most splendid. 

Duchess (striving to speak lightly): What a pretty 
speech, Gaetano. What would Father Capon- 
sacchi say? 


Gaetano (in a hurt tone): He would know I was sin- 
cere in what I said. He knows that, having no 
mother to love, I love you. 


Duchess: Forgive me. I did not mean to hurt you. 
Let us talk of your studies at Rome. 


Gaetano: What would my mother have wanted me to 
study, do you think? 


Duchess: Whatever would help you to be good and to 
enjoy life. 
(A servant enters with two glasses of wine on a 
tray.) 


Duchess: I did not order this. 


Servant: His Grace commanded me to bring it to you, 
my lady. 

(Exit Servant.) 

Duchess (pleased): You see, Gaetano, he is often much 
kinder to me than you think. (Gaetano petulantly 
refuses the wine which she offers. He continues 
talking as she drinks a glass of it.) 


50 Plays from Browning 


Gaetano: You are right. My mother would want me 
to be good because she was good. She would want 
me to be happy because she never was. She did 
not live long enough to be happy, only seventeen 
years and five months old when she died. (His old 
thought recurring to him, his voice again express- 
ing the pain the thought brings him.) Stabbed 
twenty-two times by my father’s orders, while she 
reached her little helpless hands up, perhaps, to 
ward off the blows. 


Duchess (tenderly): Do not think of it, Gaetano. 
(She rises impulsively to go to him, but pauses as 
he says suddenly in an awe-struck voice) : 


Gaetano: You look as I dreamed my mother did, dressed 
in white with red roses at her breast. 


Duchess (starting forward again): Then I will be your 
mother, this once, Gaetano. I will kiss you as 
Pompilia would do. 

(She pauses suddenly, clutches her hands to her 
breast, sways unsteadily a moment, then like a 
severed rose, she falls and lies face downward, 
dead, in the moonlight. 

For a horrified moment, Gaetano is motionless. 
Then kneeling beside her, he turns her face upward 
and searches vainly for some sign of life. Calmly, 
he rises and inspects the remaining glass of wine. 
Kneeling again by the body of the Duchess, he 
gazes fixedly at the beautiful dead face. Sud- 
denly, with a gesture of infinite grief, he buries his 


My Last Duchess 51 


face in the crushed red roses he had gathered 
when the dew was on them. 

The Duke is seen on the walk at the back, survey- 
ing the scene apparently without emotion, as he 
moves toward the right. The stage is darkened, 
gradually, completely.) 


PORPHYRIA’S LOVER 


hy 
Gees 


PORPHYRIA’S LOVER 


(There is a fireplace at center back. On either side 
of it is a built-in bookcase, extending a third of the way 
to the ceiling. The cases are full of books. Over the 
mantle is hung Martini’s interpretation of Poe’s 
Berenice. In a similar position on the right wall is a 
haunting picture of “The City of Dreadful Night.” 
A violin case is leaning against a music cabinet at the 
left of the stage. On the cabinet is a bust of George 
Sand. A library table is placed at the right center 
with a chair beside it. There are books, magazines, 
and a student’s reading-lamp on the table. The floor 
is bare of carpet or rugs. The room contains little 
other furnishing except a rocking-chair and a foot- 
stool near the fireplace. A closet door is at front 
right, and doors at front and left back. When the cur- 
tain rises, there is a fire in the grate and the sound of 
a rain storm off stage. The storm gradually dies away 
as the play proceeds. Lightning flashes through the 
window at the right. Shortly after the curtain rises, 
Allesandro enters from the left door. He is tall and 
dark, with an aquiline nose and sensitive lips. He has 
the look of a dreamer and of an idealist. Crossing the 
stage toward the closet on the right, he removes his 
wet coat and hat, opens the closet door and hangs the 
wet garments inside. He slips on a house coat and 
goes to the fireplace where he pauses for a few minutes. 
After a time he walks to the music cabinet, takes up the 


56 Plays from Browning 


violin, goes back by the fireplace, looks towards the 
window, and begins to play. He plays a few measures 
from Schubert’s “Serenade.” Then he sings softly 
to himself as he puts the violin back into its case: 
“Sadly in the forest mourning’—‘“Wails the whip- 
poor-will’”—‘“And my heart for thee is yearning’— 
He seats himself by the table, and takes up a copy 
of Leonid Andreyeft’s “The Black Maskers.” He 
has not yet begun to read when the door at the left 
opens hastily and Porphyria enters. She is exceed- 
ingly beautiful, with dark blue eyes and an abundance 
of golden hair. She is dressed in a ball costume, with 
a dark mantle flung around her shoulders. Allesandro 
springs to his feet in astonishment. She looks at him 
and laughs uncertainly.) 


Porphyria: I left them dancing (nodding her head 
backwards) and came to you, Allesandro. 
(Allesandro crosses quickly to her and puts his 
hand on her shoulder. ) 


Allesandro: You are wet. (Dazed.) You came through 
the rain to me? 


Porphyria: I... we were driving in the park before 
we went to the ball and I heard a bird calling 
BAG wife Way aiietl Balai 4 


Allesandro (failing to catch her meaning): A bird? 


Porphyria: Our bird, the one that sang in the orchard 
that first night. 


Allesandro: Oh,—the whip-poor-will. I heard it, too, 
Porphyria, and it—but you are wet. How did you 
get here? What will your father think of this? 


Porphyria’s Lover 57 


Porphyria: I snatched this mantle and ran here. 
Father will know nothing about it because I told 
my guest, the Countess Gismond, that I was ill 
and that I was going home. (Quickly, seeing a 
look of disapproval on his face) Don’t blame me, 
Allesandro! I was ill. I heard the whip-poor- 


Wilt. ay, 1b)... you don't know how I felt). -): 
All at once it seemed to me I should . . . I could 
BOCEDeAT @ Ib An VoRlOnger) ai CERO Leis ania: 


(Breaking off and turning slightly away she fe! 
gins to take off the mantle, which is dripping wet. 
Allesandro stands by, as though unable to collect 
himself. At last he says with intense feeling.) 


Allesandro: You have come to me, Porphyria? Have 
you come to stay? 


Porphyria: Yes, for an hour, perhaps. (Unable to 
bear the hurt look which meets her light words) 
Don’t look so, please. It was not easy forme... 
to come. 


Allesandro (contritely): Forgive me! I hardly know 
what I am doing . . . Your feet are wet. Come 
to the fire. (He leads her courteously to the fire- 
place and draws out the rocking-chair for her. 
She seats herself, hastily, on the low stool and 
motions for him to take the chair.) 


Porphyria: Let me sit at your feet, Allesandro (draw- 
ing her stool to his feet as she speaks), and lean 
my head against you. Now, let us be happy. Tell 
me a story about a whip-poor-will. Yes, you may 


58 Plays from Browning 


stroke my hair if you wish. I desire it. I wish to 
be perfectly happy for one hour, one little hour. 


Allesandro (suddenly): Porphyria, may I ask you a 


question? 
Porphyria: Tf you wish. 
Allesandro: Did something unusual happen today? 
Something which made you very unhappy? 
Porphyria (evasively): Why? What put such a ques- 


tion into your mind? 


Allesandro: I know something has moved you deeply. 
I am miserable when you are unhappy. Tell me 
what has troubled you. | 


Porphyria: I... had not meant to trouble you; but 
of course you wonder why I came. I should not 
have come ... I think .. . had I not heard the 
whip-poor-will . . . but after that . . . and after 
what had happened today . .. The Duke came 
this morning and looked at me for an hour with his 
horrible, cold eyes, while he talked to Father, 
while he flattered Father, rather, about his art 
collection. Nobody knows how his last Duchess 
died. I think . . . don’t laugh at me, Allesandro, 
I think he froze that lovely lady to death with his 
awful stare. (Shuddering) He was at the ball 
tonight and I was forced to dance with him. All 
the time I kept thinking of you and I kept hearing 
the whip-poor-will as it sang in the orchard that 
first night. I had a queer fancy (looking at him 
childishly) that if the Duchess had loved our bird, 


Porphyria’s Lover 59 


or any bird, he would have taken it into his hand 
and would have crushed it to death with the 
greatest pleasure. I could hardly finish my 
dance with him. He asked for a second. Father 
was standing by; so I could not refuse, but (sud-. 
denly calming down) we didn’t dance it after all. 
I came to you instead, Allesandro. 

Allesandro: Will you promise me something, Por- 
phyria? 

Porphyria: If I can. 


Allesandro: Should your father attempt to force you 
into a marriage with that monster, promise me 
that you will come to me. 


Porphyria (passionately): Oh, I wish I knew that I 
would come to you in a way worthy of you. I wish 
I were not so cowardly. If I had the courage of a 
sparrow, I’d make both our lives worth something, 
but I haven’t it—the courage, I mean. I hate 
poverty. I could never be happy. I’m afraid to 
come to you. I would be but a weight to drag you 
down. Your dreams would die and I should be 
the cause of their death. Could I bear to kill your 
dreams, Allesandro? I wish I knew what I shall 
do. I’m afraid that after all—I may be cowardly 
enough to come to you and if I do—I know I can- 
not come bravely. 


Allesandro: I fear only that you will never come. I 
somehow feel that you never will. Porphyria, © 
don’t you understand that you are the most beauti- 
ful dream I ever had? That the mere thought of 


60 Plays from Browning 


losing you blots all other hopes from my mind with 
an unutterable darkness. I am miserable till I 
have your promise. 


Porphyria: Then I promise you that I will come, 
Allesandro. 


Allesandro (tenderly turning her face up towards his) : 
And I promise to make you happy. We will not 
think of poverty. We will have infinite riches— 
we will have each other, and every year the Spring- 
time will come and our whip-poor-will singing in 
the orchard. But (catching himself up)—some- 
how—it isn’t that I distrust your promise, but— 
(the brightness going out of his voice) I’m afraid, 
Porphyria. 

Porphyria (stretching her feet towards the fire and 
settling her head back against his knees, says coax- 
ingly): Let’s not think any longer about what 
may happen. I only ask for one hour in which to 
be happy. Tell me my story, Allesandro. 


Allesandro (stroking her hair): Poor little wet bird. 
Are you happy now? 


Porphyria: Utterly. 
Allesandro (groaning): If it could only last. And you 


came through the rain to me, Porphyria. I shall 
never forget it. 


Porphyria (catching her breath sharply at his tone): 
Don’t talk so, Allesandro. I... You don’t 
know how I felt . . . I can’t stand much more. 
(Reproachfully) How can I be happy when I 

. when you are so sad? 


Porphyria’s Lover 61 


Allesandro (suddenly appreciating the fact that she 
has been under a strain as well as himself): For- 
give me! (Humoring her.) I will tell you a story 
about a whip-poor-will. 


Porphyria: Begin “Once upon a time—” 


Allesandro: Very well. Once upon a time, in a country 
not so far away, there was a magic orchard. The 
moon and a fairy had bewitched it. A poor 
begrar iv. 


Porphyria: Not a poor beggar, a prince in disguise. 


Allesandro: Well, a prince in disguise, if your fancy 
insists upon a prince, was walking off a case of 
nerves and he stopped in a magic orchard to rest. 


Porphyria (Nods sympathetically and pulls his hand 
down into hers): Why didn’t he stop at a house? 


Allesandro: He wanted to be out where he could smell 
the apple blooms, and dream, and listen to the 
night birds, and watch the clouds drift, and let his 
fancy soar. 


Porphyria: But he didn’t watch long. 


Allesandra: No, he was so weary, you know, and it 
was a magic orchard. By some mysterious magic, 
he soon forgot his weariness in sleep. When he 
awoke, moon fairies were dancing madly on every 
apple bloom and a whip-poor-will was calling in 
the orchard. 


Porphyria: Did it ever call any more? 


62 Plays from Browning 


Allesandro: Yes, it called every night and that was the 
signal . . . But I’m getting ahead of my story. 
The poor beggar, I mean the prince, opened his 
eyes. He thought he must be dreaming. He didn’t 
know, then, that the orchard was enchanted. He 
thought he must be dreaming that he was En- 
dymion, for, surely, Diana was standing before 
him. 

Porphyria (laughingly): Diana in a gingham dress! 

The only one I ever wore, Allesandro,—that sum- 
mer in the country. I have it yet. Tell me the 
rest. 
(A man’s face appears at the window. The lovers 
do not see him because they are facing the other 
way. The face disappears as Allesandro con- 
tinues. ) 


Allesandro: The prince sat up and when he opened his 
eyes fully, he discovered that he was not dreaming, 
and that it was not Diana who was looking at him. 
Can you guess how he knew it was not she? 


Porphyria: Tell me. 


Allesandro: The fairy looking at him was far more 
beautiful than his dreams or than the goddess 
Diana. Her eyes were blue, Porphyria, as a June 
sky at midnight, with the golden light of the mid- 
night stars shining in their depths. Her hair 
(stroking Porphyria’s hair tenderly)—I could 
never tell you about her hair. All the moonbeams 
that ever grew weary of heaven found a resting 
place in her hair. 


Porphyria’s Lover 63 


(There is heard a sudden, peculiar, double rap on 
the outer door. Porphyria starts up, looks ex- 
citedly around, sees the closet door, and rushes to 
it, saying): 


Porphyria: Father! I’m not here, Allesandro. (The 
door at the left is flung open violently and the 
Count enters. He is a tall man, with blond hair 
and beard, rather handsome, and a trifle over- 
bearing. He is a man who covets the culture 
which he does not possess. He is proud of his art 
collection, not for the sake of art, but because it 
betokens the culture which he desires, and because 
it is a possession not all people may have.) 


Allesandro: To what do I owe this intrusion? 


Count (sneeringly): You are at a great loss, no doubt, 
to account for it. I suppose you think I do not 
know my daughter’s mantle (pointing to Por- 
phyria’s mantle). 


Allesandro: So your idea of honor is to spy upon your 
own daughter, is it? 


Count: If it is necessary to guard her honor, yes. 


Allesandro: If your daughter is here, she shall leave 
when she desires to do so and not before. 


Count (enraged): If sheis here? You need not attempt 
to deny it. I saw her through the window. Don’t 
fancy I misunderstand you. You are not the first 
young beggar who has looked longingly at my 
daughter’s fortune. 


64 Plays from Browning 


Allesandro (cut to the quick): Fortune! As though 
I had not cursed it a million times. You know 
how I met Porphyria. You know that I was 
ignorant of the fact that she was cursed with a 
fortune until that wretched day you came. I have 
tried to keep away from her, but the agony has 
not been mine alone. It is as hard for her as it is 
for me. I warn you now, if you try to force her 
into something ... (clinching his fist) ... I 
shall keep away no longer. 


Count (ironically): Thank you. May I hope for your 
congratulations? My daughter is to be a Duchess. 
Her engagement is to be announced within a 
month. 


Allesandro (in a tone of horror): Within a month? 
To the Duke? (Deliberately) Your daughter will 


never be a Duchess to meet the fate of the last. 


Count: I know my daughter better than you do. She 
will never renounce luxury for this (sweeping his 
hand contemptuously around). 


Allesandro: That must be for Porphyria to decide. 
Count: And I know how she will decide. 
Allesandro: Yes, when you force her to that decision. 


Count: Force will not be necessary. You shall see. 
I could drag my daughter home like a runaway 
slave if I wished. But she will come of her own 
accord in the end (smiling coldly, as he stands by 
the door to go out). I am glad of my knowledge 
of this episode. I am of the opinion that it will 


Porphyria’s Lover 65 


make her more tractable in the future. I leave 
you to tell her that she will soon be a Duchess. 
( Exit.) 

Allesandro (Looks at the door through which the Count 
has gone. He is trembling with rage): God! why 
did I not kill him? 
(Porphyria comes out of the closet. She is crying 
and excited. ) 

Porphyria (pathetically): They’re going to cage your 
bird, Allesandro. 

( Allesandro looks at her with a miserable face, drops 
into a chair, bows his head and groans. Por- 
phyria comes hastily to him. Rather timidly she 
puts her hand on his head as though to comfort 
him.) 

Porphyria: Please don’t, Allesandro. I'll never con- 
sent. I’ll come to you as I promised. 
(Allesandro looks up and takes her hand in his. 
He gazes searchingly at her.) 


Allesandro: Porphyria, can I trust you? (Bitterly) 
But even if I could, I don’t know what they may 
force you into. 

(Porphyria slips one hand out of his and pushes 
his hair back. She is standing by the side of his 


chair with her face toward the audience.) 


Porphyria: I will come, Allesandro. If they cage me, 
I will burst my bars when the Springtime comes 
and the whip-poor-will, and I will come to you. 
(More brightly) Don’t grieve so. I know mat- 
ters will adjust themselves better than you think. 


66 Plays from Browning 


(The clock on the mantle rather loudly strikes a 
quarter of one.) My poor little hour. It will 
soon be gone. 

(Porphyria looks around at the clock as she speaks. 
She notices that the fire is almost out. She gently 
withdraws her hand and going to the fireplace, 
begins to stir the fire. As she is doing so, her 
hair comes uncoiled and falls down. It is long, 
and thick, and very beautiful. She starts to recoil 
it but Allesandro, who has been watching her, says 
hastily) : 


Allesandro: Please don’t. Now you are my Diana of 
the orchard. I could go on my knees to you, Por- 
phyria, when I see you looking so. 


Porphyria (quickly): But you shall not. I will sit at 
your feet instead. (Dropping onto the stool in 
her former position, she looks up adoringly at 
him.) Just a few wee minutes more, Allesandro. 
Won’t you make me happy again before I go? 


Allesandro (caressing her hair once more): Make you 
happy? That is all I care to live for. I’m afraid 
to let you go, Porphyria. I’m afraid they will 
cage my beautiful bird till she can never come flut- 
tering back to me. Can’t you make up your mind 
to stay—now? 


Porphyria: No! No! I couldn’t. I will come back, 
Allesandro. Something will happen. Let us not 
think about it any longer. Finish the story and I 
will stay until you have done, even though it is 
more than an hour. You told me about her eyes. 


Porphyria’s Lover 67 


You said they were blue. How did you say her 
eyes looked? 

(Porphyria turns around on the stool as she asks 
the question. She is so beautiful that for a mo- 
ment Allesandro’s stern expression relaxes and his 


face brightens. ) 


Allesandro: I said the light in her eyes was softer than 
the petals of the dawn roses. When she spoke, I 
no longer listened for the night birds. They were 
all articulate in her voice. (As Allesandro has 
been speaking, a strange look has come into his 
face. He pauses a moment as though thinking 
intently. Porphyria looks at him questioningly.) 
Porphyria, may I ask you a question? 


Porphyria: Yes. 


Allesandro: Suppose you were standing by your win- 
dow some stormy night and a bird, our whip-poor- 
will, say, flew in to you from the darkness. Sup- 
pose you took it in your hand and caressed it and 
it began to sing. Suppose you knew there were 
only three ways in which you could dispose of the 
little songster. You could tie it “with a silken 
cord of your own hand’s weaving,” and you could 
love it while it gradually drooped, became dull, 
and died. You could turn it loose, not to freedom, 

- but to coldness and cruelty where its song would 
cease more quickly and death would come more 
swiftly. Or you could, at the moment it was most 
alive, while it was still singing its joyous song, 
gently stop forever ... the song... and the 


68 Plays from Browning 


life . . . before either could be made unhappy. 
What would you do, Porphyria? Do you think 
God would mind if you stopped its song? 


Porphyria: That is avery strange question. (Thought- 
fully, turning her face toward the fire once more.) 
I believe . . . God would be glad. I can’t think 
he wants any of his tiny creatures to be unhappy. 
I would stop its song forever, Allesandro. 


Allesandro: Thank you, Porphyria, for your answer. 
Pardon my digression. The question came to me 
while we were talking about our whip-poor-will. 
I will go on with our story. As I was saying, the 
prince sat up, and the fairy spoke, and he thought 
all the bird songs of a summer night were in her 
voice. Do you think he could have loved her then, 
Porphyria, that her voice made such music in his 
ears? 


Porphyria: I could not say concerning the prince, 
Allesandro, but she was born loving him. 


Allesandro: 'Then I think I can speak for him. He was 
born worshiping her. When did she love him the 
most, do you think? 


Porphyria: Oh, not for a long time afterwards. Not 
till one night when she heard a whip-poor-will giv- 
ing its old signal call and she came through the 
rain to him. 


Allesandro: Could she ever have loved him more? 


Porphyria: No, never. Her heart would have burst 
with the rapture of it. 


Porphyria’s Lover 69 


Allesandro (He has grown strangely white. There is 
a look in his eyes as though he were seeing a vision. 
He gathers Porphyria’s hair into a strand as 
though preparing to recoil it): I hold a million 
weary moonbeams in my hand. Porphyria, are 
you happy? 

Porphyria: Utterly. 

( Allesandro’s face has become absolutely colorless. 
He stoops forward suddenly, and swiftly winds 
Porphyria’s hair three times around her neck and 
strangles her. She makes no sound. After a time, 
he stoops and lifts her into his arms. Her head 
falls back against his shoulder. She is quite dead. 
He settles back in his chair, gently opens her eye- 
lids, and looks into her eyes. Then he untightens 
the golden tress about her neck, and kisses her. 

The stage is darkened for a few moments to indi- 
cate the passing of the night. Day breaks with 
the dim, cold light of the early morning. The fire 
is out. Allesandro is sitting as he was when the 
darkness fell. His face is pallid and drawn, but he 
is quite calm. He is talking slowly and softly to 
Porphyria.) 


Allesandro: You felt no pain. I am quite sure you 


felt no pain . . . I have held you in my arms, Por- 
phyria, all night long. I have stopped ... your 
song . . . and God has not said a word. 


(The peculiar double rap of the Cownt is heard at 
the outer door. Allesandro seems not to hear it.) 


th ar , ~ 
} dks ) Fa 


fi 


e} 


aS 


ry a, | 
J Ce A ay i; y 


A LIGHT WOMAN 


bad 


‘ bi 


{on 


¥ wy 
¥h dint 
+h 


Hy 


A LIGHT WOMAN 


AGRNT 
ScENE 1 


(The time is early morning. The place is the garden 
at Thornton House. During the scene may be heard 
“Lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore.” 

A man and a woman enter from the left. The man 
is Ernest Hope. He is fair, boyish, affectionate, 
slightly effeminate, honest and kind. His companion 
is Pauline Powell. 

Pauline advances to the center of the stage. She has 
a strong, graceful bearing and a magnificent head. She 
stands in apparent enjoyment of the scene. 

Presently, “sunbeams like swords’ glance on the 
masses of her auburn hair. Like the Borgia’s it seems 
“meandering in pellucid gold.” 

Pauline Powell has not known a deep emotion. The 
plummet lines of love, sorrow, ambition, self-sacrifice, 
have never been dropped into the depths of her soul. 
By nature a “rapid falcon,” snared by society, she has 
done no more than “‘the flitting of the bat.’’) 


Pauline (leaning against a tree. In a tone of satisfac- 
tion): Oh, there they are. 
Ernest: Who? 


Pauline: Put your ear to that tree. Now—what do 
you hear? 


74 Plays from Browning 


Ernest: Sap rising, I suppose. 


Pauline (frowning): Never be literal, Ernest, unless 
you wish to be tiresome. Surely you can hear them 
whispering? 


Ernest (blankly): Who? What, Pauline? 
Pauline: The dryads imprisoned there. 


Ernest (smiling): Oh—perhaps I didn’t listen closely 
enough. (Humoring her, listening again.) I can’t 
understand them. Can you? 


Pauline: Not clearly; their hearts beat too loudly. I 
think—they are discussing—(listening intently )— 


Ernest: What? 
Pauline (unexpectedly): Costumes. 


Ernest (laughing): Really? They are feminine dry- 
ads, then. Your fairies seem quite human. Shall 
we sit here and rest? 


Pauline (sitting beside him): Not long. I promised 
Lucy to meet her at Fillipo’s. 


Ernest: Which was very unkind of you. 
Pauline: We are to shop this morning. 
Ernest: I wish you were a fairy or a dryad. 
Pauline: Why? 

Ernest: Then you couldn’t evade me so easily. 
Pauline: Vm so disappointed ! 


Ernest: What about? 


A Light Woman 75 


Pauline: I thought perhaps you considered me your 
good fairy. 

Ernest: I don’t consider you any kind of a fairy. I 
could more easily imagine you to be a goddess. 
After all, I am glad you are neither. 

Pauline: Tell me why. 

Ernest: I would not change perfection. 

Pauline: Thank you, Ernest. I can depend upon you 
for one compliment, per occasion, can’t I? Pro- 
vided I lead up to it, of course. Now that I have 
my quota, I really must go. Lucy gets so nervous 
waiting. 

Ernest: Miss Thornton should practice patience. 


Pauline: It is not her nature to do so. Lucy is a dear 
little thing. 


Ernest: Oh, yes—but a morning like this— 
Pauline (nodding): I know. Ernest,—‘‘Hark to yon 


reedy note. It never came from a feathered 
throat.” 


Ernest (listening): I hear nothing except the wind and 
the water. 

Paul: It was “Pan with the pipe at his bearded lips.” 

Ernest (obstinately): It was the wind. 

Pauline: The wind and the waves—the birds and the 
growing flowers—that is “the music the Pan-pipes 


play.” Shall you accept Lucy’s invitation for 
tomorrow night? 


tOeos Plays from Browning 


Ernest: Shall you not be there? 


Pauline: Naturally, since the dinner is given in my 
honor. 


Ernest: You know that nothing could keep me away. 


Pauline (smiling in appreciation): Really, you are de- 
veloping. 


Ernest: That encourages me to ask if you will attend 
the race with me this afternoon. 


Pauline: With pleasure. 


Ernest: As you might say, I shall float among golden 
clouds of happiness. 


Pauline: I might say it, but don’t expect me to do any- 
thing like that. Be careful, Ernest. You are 
rather overdoing it. Don’t make me too many 
pretty speeches. You might come to believe the 
sound of your own voice. 


Ernest (suddenly grave): I do believe it, Pauline. I 
mean what I have said a thousand times over. I 
can’t jest very well. Let me say at once what you 
know already, what has been true since the first 
time I saw the sunlight glinting on your hair. I 
love you. Tell me that you— 


Pauline (accustomed to such declarations): No. I am 
sorry, Ernest. I like you immensely, but— 


Ernest: But you do not love me? 


Pauline: I believe the capacity to love has been denied 
me. 


A Light Woman T7 


Ernest: No, no. Only give me permission, and I will 
teach you how to love. You don’t know yourself. 


(Eagerly.) May I teach you? 


Pauline: Granted at your own risk. I am sure to prove 
a dull pupil. 


Ernest (striving to be gay): With such a teacher! 
You remind me of Hugh. 


Pauline: Hugh? 
Ernest: My friend, Hugh Carelton. He has the same 


absurd idea; that he will never love. His time 
will come. 


Pauline (rismg): As mine has for joining Lucy. 


Ernest: I warn you that I shall be an indefatigable 
teacher. 


Pauline: And I warn you to expect failure. 


Ernest (holding up his hand as though to command 
the attention of an audience): Imprisoned Dry- 
ads, Fairies, and Unseen Powers, I call you to wit- 
ness that I assume all risk in teaching your kindred 
spirit the greatest lesson in the universe. I further 
register this vow before you—mine shall be the 
glory of winning this proud lady. 

(With becoming grace he kisses her hand. Pauline 


smiles in careless enjoyment of the situation.) 


78 Plays from Browning 


ScENE 2 


(The time is a little later than Scene 1. The place 
is the laboratory of Fillipo, the miser chemist. The 
room is a jewelry shop and a laboratory combined. 
Fillipo mends jewelry, buys it, sells it, gloats over it. 
He carries on strange experiments as well. 

When the curtain rises, Fillipo is discovered pound- 
ing gum in a mortar. His thin miserly lips are shut 
in a straight line, and his cruel dark eyes are bent 
intently on the work in hand. © 

The stage is suffused with a blue haze which gradu- 
ally disappears when Fillipo opens the window. 

The window at left back faces the street. People 
pass from time to time as the scene proceeds. 

Lucy Thornton passes the window and enters at 
right. She is small, dainty, and vivacious.) 


Lucy: Fillipo. 
Fillipo (turning around): Yes? 


Lucy (unclasping a bracelet): Can you tighten the 
stone in this bracelet? 


Fillipo (seizing it): I can. 

Lucy: Then do so, please. 

Fulipo (fondling it): Ill send it to you when— 
Lucy: No, Vl wait. 

Fillipo (opening the window): Wait here, then. 
Lucy: Why? 


Fillipo: ’Tis safer. (Covetously.) I’d pay you well 
for this. 


A Light Woman 79 


Lucy (impatiently): Hurry, please. 

Fillipo (fascinated): Ill give you more than it is 
worth. 

Lucy: No, no. It is a family heirloom. I would not 
think of selling it. 

Fillipo (sighing): Ill tighten the setting. Sometime I 
can—(mumbling)—a fortune by itself. 


Lucy (suddenly, leaning out of the window): Pauline! 
Here I am. I have to wait a few minutes. How 


do you do, Mr. Hope? 
Ernest (outside): How do you do, Miss Thornton? 
Pauline: Shall I come in? 


Lucy: If you choose. 
(There is a confused murmur of voices outside for 
a moment, and Pauline enters.) 


Pauline: I am so glad you did not wait for me. (Look- 
ing around.) How curious! Do you come here 
often, Lucy? 


Lucy: No. (In a low tone.) I dislike to come here. 
(Speaking naturally.) I bring my jewels for 
Fillipo to mend. 


Pauline: What do those bottles contain? 
Lucy: How should I know? I’m no chemist. 
Pauline: Fillipo! 

Fillipo (turning): At your service, lady. 
Pauline: What is in those bottles? 


80 Plays from Browning 


Fillipo: Different things. 
Pauline: Yes, but what? 
Fillipo: A lot of things. Medicine, poison— 


Lucy (shuddering): Poison, Hurry, Fillipo. Your 
shop depresses me. 


Pauline (laughing): Nonsense, Little Lucy. Poison 
won’t harm you as long as it is bottled. 


Lucy: I know, but I—(bowing out of the window). 
How do you do, Mr. Darrow? 


Pauline: Was that Mr. John Darrow? 
Lucy: Yes. Do you know him? 
Pauline: Slightly. He is a particular friend of 


Ernest’s. 
Lucy: There is a reason for that. 
Pauline: I know,—Ernest’s sister. 


Lucy: Yes. By the way, Pauline, may I ask what you 
intend to do with Ernest? 


Pauline (innocently): Nothing. Why? 
Lucy (pointedly): Can you stop at nothing? 
Pauline (promptly): I can. 

Lucy: Can Ernest? 


Pauline: Don’t worry, Little Lucy. That is Ernest’s 
concern. Besides— 


Lucy (out of the window): How do you do, Mr. 
Carelton? Besides, what? 


A Light Woman 81 
Pauline: You may think me egotistical. I was going 
to say that Ernest needs developing. 


Lucy: Such development as you have in mind does not 
always bring happiness. 


Pauline (indifferently): Doesn’t it? Was that Mr. 
Hugh Carelton who just passed? 


Lucy (surprised): Yes. Do you know him? 


Pauline (recalling Ernest’s remark): I thought I re- 
membered his name on your dinner list. 


Lucy: Yes. Pauline? 
Pauline: What is it? 


Lucy (clasping her hands nervously, blushing): I want 
to ask a favor of you. 


Pauline: Do so by all means. 
Lucy: Mr. Carelton and I were childhood friends. 
Pauline: Well? 


Lucy: In memory of our childish friendship, I would 
ask you to spare him. 


Pauline: Lucy! 
Lucy: You know what I mean. 
Pauline (coldly): Vm afraid I do not. 


Lucy: You make most men admire you more than is 
good for their peace of mind. 


Pauline: Make them? I have nothing to do with it. 
Lucy (sharply): How can you say so? 


82 Plays from Browning 


Pauline (calmly): True, I am generally misunderstood. 
Believe me, Lucy, it is not always my fault. I 
value the few real friendships I have been able to 
form with men. I never desire more. It is not my 
fault if they— 


Lucy: IT understand. (Enviously.) You are so beauti- 
ful, Pauline, you don’t realize the impression you 
make. 


Pauline (lightly): Thank you, Little Lucy. 


Lucy: Of course (Lucy tries to speak unconcernedly) 
it is nothing to me, but I do hope you will let 
Mr. Carelton alone. 


Pauline (proudly): Certainly, if you desire it. (Ma- 
liciously.) Provided I can. Had it occurred to 
you that Mr. Carelton might himself become inter- 
ested in me? 


Lucy: He is very reserved. It is not likely that he will. 
If he does— 


Pauline: What? 
Lucy: I would think he was in deadly earnest. 


Pauline: Thank you for the warning. I believe Fillipo 
has finished. 


Fillipo: If you ever want to sell— 
Lucy: Yes, yes. Ill remember you. Come, Pauline. 


Pauline (kindly): Let us get back into the sunshine. 
Why, Little Lucy, you are trembling! 


A Light Woman 83 


SCENE 3 


(The time is evening of the same day. The place 
is John Darrow’s library. It is a luxurious room, the 
result of a refined taste. 

Hugh Carelton, dark, strong, handsome, twenty- 
eight years old, sits at the left, a cigar stand by his 
side. 

John Darrow is opposite Hugh. He is pleasant, 
thoughtful, and slightly melancholy. He is forty-nine 
years old.) 


Hugh: I was surprised at the result of the race this 
afternoon, weren’t you? 

John: I did not see it. 

Hugh: What? You miss a boat race? 


John: It is unusual. Boat-racing, any water event, 
water itself, has a peculiar fascination for me. 


Hugh: Pardon me, John. Were you ill? I thought 
you seemed not quite yourself this morning. 


John: I was not ill. I’m a foolish fellow, I know. I 
could not bear the crowd this afternoon. (In a 
low tone.) It was just one year ago today that 
Evelyn died. 


Hugh: Oh—I did not know—I did not remember. 
John: Why should you? You did not love her. 


84 Plays from Browning 


Hugh: 1 had scarcely seen her. I remember that 
Ernest was awfully cut up at the time. How old 
was she? 


John: She was only sixteen years old when she died! 
Hugh: Ernest has told me of your devotion to her. 
John: I made no attempt to conceal it. 


Hugh: She must have loved you had she lived to reach 


maturity. 


John: The great difference in our age would have made 
that impossible. 


Hugh: Surely not. 


John: Yes. I was three times as old as she. No 
(sadly), she could not have loved me, but I never 
had loved, I never can love, another. 


Hugh: That is morbid, John. She was but a mere 
child. 


John: I can’t explain it. When she stood before me so 
young, so frank, so radiant, I knew with a cer- 
tainty deeper than reason that Fate had played 
me the shabby trick of sending me into the world 
too soon or her too late. 


Hugh: How little we know the people we live among! 
Why, John, I never suspected you of morbidness. 


John: Nor need you now. What Evelyn and I have 
missed here, we will gain in some other world, I 
trust. I believe “God creates the love to reward . 
the love.” 


A Light Woman 85 
Hugh: You mean— 


John: I am not sure I can make you understand. As 
I sat in that room where no light passed save two 
long rays through the hinge’s chink, a conviction 
came to me that sometime, after I have lived 
through many worlds, perhaps, and been sacri- 
ficed a number of times if need be, we will meet on 
an equal plane. 


Hugh: An equal plane? 


John: With the accidental difference in our ages re- 
moved. Evelyn will then recognize me as I have 
already recognized her. 


Hugh: Jacob served seven years for Rachel. You 
would serve seven hundred years if need be. That 
is a beautiful— 


John: Mysticism? Call it what you will. I believe that 
in time many things will be made clear. 
(Dreamily.) Why her hair was amber I shall 
divine, and her mouth of her own geranium’s red. 
There was a sprig of geranium dying, too, in a 
glass. I shut it within her sweet, cold hand. Then 
just once I kissed her lips. Sometime, she will 
wake, and remember, and understand. 

(A servant enters with the evening mail.) 


John: Read your letters, Hugh. (Embarrassed.) I 
never talked like this before. I don’t know why— 


Hugh: I understand, somewhat, at least. I appreciate 
your confidence. 


86 _ Plays from Browning 


John: It is the first anniversary of her death, you 
know. (Restlessly, opening his letters.) Have 
you any interesting mail? 

(A servant announces “Mr. Hope.” Ernest 
enters. ) 


Ernest: How do you do, Hugh? How are you, John? 


Excuse my running in like this. 


John: You know you are always welcome. Sit here. 
Have a cigar. 


Ernest: Thanks, I haven’t time for it, ’m afraid. 
Hugh: Surely you have time for one cigar? 


Ernest: Well, V’ll finish it as I go along. The fact 1s, 
I’m calling on a lady. 


Hugh: Has it come to this! (He throws up his hands 
in mock despair. ) 


Ernest: Never mind, Hugh. Your time will come. 
Mother was a little worried about you, John. I 
promised her I would drop in and make sure you 
were feeling fit. 


John: Thank you. I am sorry Mrs. Hope was con- 
cerned. I?ll call tomorrow and assure her I am 
quite well. 


Ernest: Yes,do. What did you think of the boat race, 
Hugh? 


Hugh: I was decidedly surprised at the outcome. 


Ernest: So was I. 


A Light Woman 87 


Hugh: By the way, Ernest, pardon my inquisitiveness, 
but who was the lady you were absorbed in this 
afternoon? 


Ernest: Pauline Powell. Have you never met her? 


Hugh: No, but I am to have the opportunity tomorrow 
night at Thornton’s, I believe. 


Ernest: Yes, she is the guest of honor. But I give you 
friendly warning, Hugh, that you are to let Miss 
Powell alone. 


Hugh: My dear fellow, you interest me. 


Ernest: Not in Miss Powell, I hope. None of your 
blarney with her, you handsome scoundrel. I have 
not forgotten your career at Oxford. 


Hugh: But, Ernest, how extremely selfish! Here you 
are miles ahead, and trying to stop me before I 
begin. A fair field and may I gain favor, say I. 
(Ernest shakes his fist at Hugh, and turns to 
John.) 


Ernest: Mother was just a little anxious. I’m glad 
you are feeling well. Tl see you both tomorrow 
night. 

Hugh (teasingly): Yes, I shall be very much in evi- 
dence tomorrow night. 

Ernest: Not too much, not too much in evidence, 
Hugh, or you are no friend of mine. 

Hugh (slapping him on the back): Get along with you. 
and don’t disturb two peaceful bachelors. 


Ernest: Good-night, both of you. 


88 , Plays from Browning 


Both: Good-night, Ernest. (Exit Ernest.) 


Hugh (closing the door and resuming his seat): Who 
is this Miss Powell, John? 


John: She is a friend of Lucy Thornton’s. I under- 
stand she is making an extended visit while Lucy’s 
parents are away. 


Hugh: Lucy has a very beautiful companion in Miss 
Powell, if I could judge correctly this afternoon. 


John: You will be astonished, Hugh, when I tell you 
that this same Miss Powell is causing me a good 
deal of anxiety. 


Hugh: Indeed! May I ask in what way? 
John: On account of Ernest. 


Hugh: I supposed he was joking. Is the situation 


serious? 


John: He is planning the wreck of his future happiness 
if I can believe my eyes. 


Hugh: You startle me. What concerns Ernest touches 
me. As you know, he is the most intimate friend 
I have since Waring dropped out of my life. 


John: How singular! 
Hugh: That Ernest and I should be intimate? 


John: No, that both your friends should suffer from 
the same cause. 


Hugh: What do you mean? 
John: How did you explain Waring’s disappearance? 


A Light Woman 89 


Hugh: I had no satisfactory explanation. We supped 
together the night he gave us all the slip. We 
had started to walk home through the December 
snow. I left his arm a moment to speak to a new 
prose poet. How was I to know he meant to glide 
away? He was prouder than the devil. I’ve 
thought perhaps he went away to write a book or 
to do something that would make us all proud of 
him. 

John: I am convinced he went away because of a 
woman. 


Hugh: Impossible! 


John: I am sure of it. The same night, I fancy, that 
he left you, I was walking by the river watching 
the snow on the water. 


Hugh: I always said you should have been an artist, 
John. Snow on the water is beautiful. 


John: Very. I had an odd fancy that it was lke 
Evelyn—her life, I mean. Perfectly pure it came; 
it barely touched the water as she barely touched 
the stream of life, and it was gone, pure as when 
it came. 


Hugh (nodding): And like her, it was beautiful during 
the entire period of its existence. 


John: Exactly so. Busy with my thoughts, I scarcely 
noticed when darkness fell. I had paused in the 
shadow of the buttress of the bridge when a man 
and a woman stopped in front of me. I thought 
they would go on. It would have been extremely 


90 Plays from Browning 


awkward for me to move afterward, because I 
recognized the man as Waring. 


Hugh: Who was the woman? 


John: I am positive she was Pauline Powell. I could 
never forget her voice, nor her face. 


Hugh (amazed): And she bowled over old Waring! 
Since I think of it, I believe it is she I have heard 
referred to as “the Light Woman.” 


John: The woman who could answer lightly, as she did, 
a plea like Waring’s—he was putting his whole 
soul into it—must, indeed, be a light woman. 


Hugh: I never dreamed of Waring— You couldn’t 
have been mistaken, I suppose? 


John: No, the light from a passing steamer fell full 
upon them, and I saw them distinctly. It was 
Waring all right; his face white and drawn. Hers 
was perfectly calm, perfectly beautiful, as she 
denied him all hope in a voice— Her voice fasci- 
nated me, Hugh. It was like nothing I have heard 
except the solemn, deep-toned ocean. Waring 
swore he would take passage that very night. He 
made good his words, as you know. 


Hugh: And that is Pauline Powell! Very well. She 
shall not ruin Ernest’s life as she evidently has 
Waring’s. 


John: There is nothing to prevent her, I fear. 


Hugh: I will prevent her. What? Shall I sit by while 
she tosses my friends at will onto the heap of her 


A Light Woman 91 


victims? <A kindlier, more trusting soul never 
lived than Ernest Hope, and Waring—I tell you, 
John, I have missed him frightfully. There is 
nothing I would not do for him if he would come 
back to me. I’ve not been myself since he went 
away. 


John: I wish something might be done, but I fear 
Ernest is already infatuated. 


Hugh (firmly): I shall make an effort on his behalf. 


John: The case is a delicate one. I doubt if Ernest, 
himself, would brook interference. 


Hugh: But, for his good, I will take it upon myself to 


interfere. 


John: Pardon me, Hugh, I know your intentions are 
the best in the world, but I don’t like your plan. 


Hugh: Have you anything to suggest? 
John: No. 
Hugh: Why do you object to my interference? 


John: Because I think it a serious matter to meddle 
with souls. 


Hugh: Nevertheless, if need be, I will for once ‘‘assume 


the God.”’ 


92 Plays from Browning 


ACT II 


(Evening. It is the next day after Act I. The 
scene is the drawing room of Thornton House. There 
is a door at left front leading to the conservatory. One 
at left back leads to the hallway. At right back is an 
open door through which may be seen a charming 
balcony. 

Lucy Thornton flutters in from this same balcony. 
She is gowned attractively, but simply. She adds a 
touch here and there to the room, as she moves rest- 
lessly about. 

Poor little Lucy suffers an immediate eclipse when 
Pauline Powell enters. Wherever Pauline moves to- 
night she will be the refulgent luminary. Her hair, 
piled high, gleams with genuine gold. Lucy catches 
her breath enviously at sight of this tall beauty.) 


Lucy (impulsively): I couldn’t resist you myself, 
Pauline. 
Pauline: Thank you. You are twice as dainty. 


Lucy (bitterly): Dainty? Insignificant, while you 
are— 


Pauline: Very well. What am I? 


Lucy (abruptly): You can’t keep your promise if you 
look—so. 


Pauline: What promise do you mean? 


Lucy: About Mr. Carelton. 


A Light Woman 93 


Pauline: Can’t I? Then I will assume a horrid ex- 
pression. (Looking around.) The rooms are 
beautiful, and so is the conservatory with those 
strange new specimens. 


Lucy (nervously): If they will only come promptly. 
I dread the first part of the evening. 


Pauline (easily): Don’t worry. We will find some 
means of entertaining them. 


Lucy: Will you sing if I ask you? That is, if some 


one is late and we have to wait. 


Pauline: Certainly. I prefer to sing before dinner. 
What music have you? (Crosses to piano.) 
(Ernest Hope is announced and enters.) 


Lucy: Good evening, Mr. Hope. 
Ernest (bowing): How do you do, Miss Powell? 
Lucy: Pauline is going to sing for us. 


Ernest (eagerly, going towards the piano): May I 
select your song? 


Pauline: You may, provided you choose one [ like. 
Lucy, will you play for me? 


Lucy: Ask Mr. Hope. 
Ernest: I hasten to offer my services. 


Pauline: I was not aware you played. 
(Mr. and Mrs. James Lee are announced. Pretty 
Mrs. Lee and her young husband are still very 
much in love with each other. ) 


94 Plays from Browning 


Mrs. Lee: How are you, Lucy? Your dress is charm- 
ing. 
Lucy: Thank you, Cora. How do you do, Mr. Lee? 


Mrs. Lee, permit me to introduce Pauline Powell. 


Mrs. Lee: Vm delighted, Miss Powell. Lucy has told 


me of you. 


Pauline: Thank you. Lucy has told me of you, also. 


Lucy: Miss Powell, Mr. Lee. (To Mr. and Mrs, Lee.) 
I believe you and Mr. Hope are old friends. 


Ernest (coming forward): Old and tried. How do you 
do, Cora? I hope you are not going to scold me? 


Mrs. Lee: You know you deserve it. 
Ernest: How are you, James? 


Mr. Lee: She was very angry when you failed to come 
to dinner. 


Ernest: I sent a note expl 


Mrs. Lee: Yes. I said you were getting to be quite like 
Clara. 
(John Darrow enters. He knows every one. He 
exchanges greetings with each one.) 


John: You are fortunate in your choice of an evening, 
Miss ‘Thornton. 

Lucy: Yes, indeed, the night is lovely. 
(Hugh Carelton enters. He knows every one ex- 
cept Pauline, to whom he is introduced. ) 


Pauline (stiffly): How do you do, Mr. Carelton? 


A Light Woman 95 

Hugh: I am happy to meet you, Miss Powell. Is this 
your first visit to Thornton House? 

Pauline: Yes. 
Hugh: It is not your last, I hope. 
Pauline: Not if Lucy is kind enough to ask me again. 
Hugh: Miss Thornton used always to be kind. 
Lucy (blushing): I fear your memory is treacherous. 
Mrs. Lee: When will your parents return, Lucy? 
Lucy: Not for six months or more. 
John: I trust your mother’s health is improving. 
Lucy: Thank you. Father writes very encouragingly. 


John: Some one told me—was it you, Ernest?—that 
Mr. Thornton was sending home a collection of 
rare plants. Is that true? 


Lucy: Yes. You might be interested in seeing them. 
They have been placed in the conservatory. 


John: I should like very much to see them. 
Mrs. Lee: Oh, let us all see them! May we? 
Lucy: Certainly. Father will be delighted to know you 


were interested. 
(They all go towards the conservatory except 
Pauline and Ernest.) 


Ernest: It was jolly nice of them to go in there. 


Pauline: Why do you say that? Shall we go, too? 


96 Plays from Browning 


Ernest: No, indeed. I meant it was nice of them be- 
cause I can’t teach with too many around. 

Pauline: That is unfortunate. I do not understand 
why the presence of— | 


Ernest: I become nervous. 


Pauline (consolingly): When you have had experience, 
I am sure you will do very nicely. 


Ernest: It is not for a pupil to criticize her teacher. 
Tell me, Pauline, have you progressed any with 
the lesson I am— 


Pauline (kindly): Better give it up, Ernest. I am 
hopelessly dull. 


Ernest (with determination): I will devote my life to 
it or teach you— 


Hugh (re-entering): What is he teaching you, Miss 
Powell? I can do it with less pain. 


Ernest: Hugh! 


Hugh: He means to imply that I am egotistical. You 
will find me, Miss Powell, as modest as the rising 
sun. 


Ernest: Yes, or the famous cock who believed the sun 
got up to hear him crow. 


Hugh: Only try me, Miss Powell. 


Paulme (repressing a smile, rather haughtily): Thank 
you. I am in no immediate need of tuition that I 
know of. Could you find nothing of interest in the 
conservatory? 


A Light Woman 97 


Hugh (gallantly): Not in comparison with what I had 


left in the drawing-room. 


Ernest: This drawing-room is extraordinary. It has 
(looking around, with exaggerated surprise) four 
walls! 


Hugh: How clever of you, Ernest, to discover that. 
I referred to the jewel itself, however, and not 
to the setting. 


Pauline (refusing to acknowledge the compliment) : 
Did you see these views, Mr. Carelton? 


Hugh (taking them): No. 

Pauline: Examine them if you care to. Mr. Hope, we 
were going to select a song. 
(She turns away with Ernest. Hugh is surprised. 
He watches them.) 

Mr. Lee (sauntering in): Are you going to sing for us, 
Miss Powell? 

Pauline: Presently, perhaps. 

Mr. Lee: Do. (He goes on out to the balcony.) 

John (coming in): You missed the most beautiful 


plant, Hugh. 


Hugh: I will see it another time. 
(Hugh deliberately walks over to the piano. John 
joins Mr. Lee on the balcony. Lucy and Mrs. Lee 


come back in.) 


Lucy (glancing suspiciously at Pauline. Sweetly): 
Can I help you, Pauline? 


98 Plays from Browning 
Pauline: Thank you, Little Lucy. Not at all. 


Lucy (looking around): Every one has come except 
Clara. 


Hugh (sitting beside Lucy, who has sat down for a mo- 
ment): Miss Powell will not accept my assistance. 
I am sure I have good taste. Have I not, Mrs. 
Lee? 


Mrs. Lee: I am convinced of it. I remember the plea- 
sure I had in hearing you and Mr. Waring sing 
once upon a time. 


Hugh: Thank you. Id give a good deal to hear War- 


ing sing once more. 
Mrs. Lee: Where is he? 
Hugh: I wish I knew. (He eyes Pauline.) None of 


his friends know where he is. 
Lucy: Why did he go away? 


Hugh: We do not know that either. (Abruptly) 
Miss Powell, were you acquainted with Waring? 


Pauline (calmly): Jack Waring? 
Hugh: Yes. 
Pauline (indifferently): I knew him. 


Hugh: You knew, perhaps, of his strange disappear- 
ance? 


Pauline: I—heard something about it. 


Lucy: Will you sing for us, Pauline, please? 


A Light Woman 99 


Pauline: If you wish. 
(Ernest plays. She sings an Italian love song. 
A little storm of applause follows the close of the 


song. ) 


John (who has come in from the balcony, sincerely) : 
Permit me to congratulate you upon your voice, 
Miss Powell. It is very beautiful. 


Pauline: I thank you. 


Hugh: Yes, indeed. Sing for us again, won’t you? 
(He walks impulsively over to the piano. Lucy’s 
gaze follows him.) You must sing one more song. 


Pauline: Shall I sing again, Lucy? 
Lucy (constrainedly): Please do. 
Pauline (to Ernest): What shall I sing? 


Hugh: That is unfair—I should be permitted to choose 
the number. 


Pauline (politely) : What will you select, Mr. Carelton? 
Hugh: Sing this, if you please. 


Pauline: No, you must excuse me, after all. 
(Pauline drifts away from the piano and presently 
she goes out onto the balcony. Ernest starting 
after her is stopped by Mrs. Lee.) 


Mrs. Lee: Ernest, do you know whether your mother 
obtained that bronze motto? 


Ernest (pausing): For the library, you mean? 
Mrs. Lee: Yes. 


100 Plays from Browning 


Ernest: She succeeded in getting it through a friend in 
town. It fits in nicely with the new hangings. 


Mrs. Lee: James and I discovered one we thought she 
might like. 


Ernest: It’s kind of you to mention it. 

(Lucy and Ernest eye Hugh as he joins Pauline 
on the balcony.) 

Mr. Lee: Are you lonesome, Miss Thornton, with your 

parents away? 

Lucy: Sometimes. But it was necessary that they 
should go. My mother’s nerves are quite dis- 
ordered. Yes, I am often lonely. 

John (musingly): Lonesomeness is a state of the mind, 
more or less, I believe. 

Ernest: To be sure. So is happiness. So is sadness. 
The point is—what can be done to change the 
state of mind? 

John: Various things. It depends on the individual. 
What do you do to cure your lonesomeness, Mrs. 
Lee? 

Mrs. Lee: I talk to James, and he talks to me. Don’t 
you, James? 

James (good-naturedly): Always, unless I weep upon 
your shoulder. 


Lucy (tapping her foot restlessly): I am sure Clara 
must be detained. 


Ernest: Do you mean Clara Hastings? 


A Light Woman 101 


Lucy: Yes. 
Ernest: Oh, she will send a note. You might as well 
consider it done. (He goes out onto the balcony.) 


Lucy (fluttering about): Have you seen these views 
father sent, Mr. Darrow? 

John: I have just looked at them. They are extremely 
interesting. 

Lucy: So I thought. 

Mr. Lee: I, for one, would not enjoy climbing that 
highest peak. 

Lucy: Nor I. 

John: I should. 

Mr. Lee: Life is too sweet to be flung away. 


John: 'True, but I should not consider that I was 
flinging it away. When the times comes, wherever, 
or however, it does come for me to set forth on 
the last great adventure, I shall go with a glad 
heart, feeling sure that no action of mine has has- 
tened my departure. 


Mr. Lee: You believe, then, that when our time comes 
to— 


Lucy (shuddering): Let us talk of something else. 
Mr. Lee: You are nervous, Miss Thornton. 


Lucy: Perhaps I am. 
(There is a strange expression on Lucy’s face as 


Pauline enters, followed by Hugh and Ernest. ) 


102 Plays from Browning 


Pauline: Do look at the moon, Little Lucy! 
Lucy: Why? 
Hugh: Why? Can you ask “why,” Miss Thornton? 


Because it is “hung like a lamp in a lilac tree, a 
light for lovers (pointing at Ernest, but glancing 
at Pauline) like you and me.” 


Lucy (smiling faintly): Then it is not for me. 
Mrs..Lee: My dear Lucy! 
Hugh: Miss Thornton has grown hard hearted. 


Ernest (turning slyly to Pauline): Perhaps she has 
had too much experience. 


Lucy: Excuse me! 
(A servant hands her a note.) 
You were a true prophet, Mr. Hope. Miss 
Hastings sends a note of regret. We will go in 
to dinner without further delay. You must draw 
for partners (handing around a tray); whoever 
draws Clara’s card— 


Hugh (gloomily): I’m sure to draw it. 


Mr. Lee (drawing. To Lucy): Te am fortunate. (He 
offers her his arm.) 


Ernest: Ah, luckless me! I am to have the phantom 
partner. 
Lucy: You may come with us, Mr. Hope. We will 
lead the way. 
(Exeunt slowly.) 


John (to Mrs. Lee): Age has nothing to do with luck. 


A Light Woman 1038 


Hugh (to Pauline): I believe in luck. 

Pauline: Do you? 

Hugh: Yes, I drew your card. 

Pauline: Do you consider your luck good or bad? 
Hugh: I pray, fervently, it will not change. 


Pauline (gravely): How often do we pray, knowing not 
what we ask. Exeunt.) 


ScENE 2 


(The scene is the garden, the same as Scene 1, 
Act I. It is late afternoon. Pauline and Hugh enter 
in riding costume. ) 


Hugh: Why do you consider Dido foolish? 
Pauline: Because she sacrificed herself for the sake of 


a bold adventurer. 

Hugh: Her heart was sad for the loss of Auneas. She 
knew he would come no more to Carthage. Death 
was sweeter than life. 

Pauline: Then she merely chose the easier course. 

Hugh: Was that foolish? 

Pauline: It was cowardly. 

Hugh: I agree with you, there. I believe that in most 
cases suicide is the act of a coward. 


Pauline (lifting her head, bravely): Though my “bread 
was sorrow, and my drink was tears,” I should 
stay till the finish, 


104 Plays from Browning 


Hugh (sincerely): I believe you would. After all, 
Dido was not called upon to bear the keenest form 
of suffering. 


Pauline: What is that? 


Hugh: I fancy it to be the suffering which would come 
from the knowledge that through some action of 
ours we had entailed suffering upon others. 
(Pauline is unconscious of the searching gaze which 
he bends on her as he says this.) 


Pauline: I should think that would depend upon the 
nature of the action. If one was innocent of the 
intent to cause— 

Hugh: I should suffer anyhow. 

Pauline: Should you? But you couldn’t fancy being 
weak enough to— 

Hugh: No. Come, let us have no more talk of sorrow. 
Have you noticed the delicate color of those 
shadows? 


Pauline: Yes, and alas, the slanting of them. Ernest 
is coming to tea. Lucy will be annoyed. We are 
already late, you see. (She points to the table.) 


Hugh: Can we reconcile “the largeness of the evening 
earth” with a cup of tea? 


Pauline: We are extraordinary if we do not. The 
majority of people ignore the most sublime of 
natural phenomena for the sake of food. 


Hugh: I confess my guilt. 


Pauline: It is universal. For the sake of breakfast, 


A Light Woman . 105 


luncheon, dinner, we ignore ‘‘vast dawns,” purple 
noons, and the “mother of the dews, deep eye- 
lashed twilight.” 


Hugh: You should have lived in Arcady, Miss Powell. 


Pauline: I have never been sure as to the location of 
that charming spot. 


Hugh: Oh, it lay in the land of Romance, in the time 
of eternal April, and it was warmed by the sun of 
love. 


Paulie (smiling): I wonder if I should have been lone- 
some there? 


Hugh: Lonesome? In Arcady? (Reproachfully.) You | 
know I would have found you out. 


Pauline: Sooner than you did here? 


Hugh: I have been hunting you all the while; I am glad 
I found you in time. 


Paulie: In time for what? 
Hugh: In time to make you love me. 
Pauline: Oh—(confused) really, shall you do that? 


Hugh: I am resolved upon it. Pauline, why were you 
so indifferent to me at first? 


Pauline (anxiously): Was I ever indifferent to you, 
Hugh? 

Hugh: You made me believe so. 

Pauline: Ah, Hugh, we are forced to pretend so many 


things. I am sure I was never— But I must tell 
Lucy that we are here, 


106 Plays from Browning 


Hugh: Net yet, Pauline. Let us walk to the lake and 
back. 


Pauline: But Lucy— 


Hugh: Lucy will have to wait. 
(Lucy enters carrying some roses. She sees that 
her guests have not yet arrived. She arranges 
the flowers and then sits in a listless attitude by a 
tea table. Ernest Hope enters from the left.) 


Lucy (starting violently): Oh— 


Ernest: I am very sorry, Miss Thornton. I did not 
intend to startle you. 


Lucy (recovering herself): How foolish of me. (Ner- 
vously.) Won’t you have tea? I was waiting for 
Pauline. 


Ernest: Thank you. I was told that she was out. I 
ventured to join you. 


Lucy: You came to see Pauline, of course. Every one 
(bitterly) calls on Pauline. 


Ernest: She is very popular, is she not? 
Lucy (dryly): Very. 


Ernest: It is only natural. One so beautiful as she— 
(listening). I thought I heard some one. (Dis- 
appointed.) No, the fact is, I had an appoint- 
ment with Miss Powell. 


Lucy: We were to have had tea half an hour ago. 
Ernest: No doubt she was unavoidably detained. 
Lucy: She is riding with Mr. Carelton. 


A Light Woman 107 


Ernest: Hugh? 
Lucy: Yes. Are you astonished? 
Ernest: I—understood they went riding yesterday. 


Lucy: They did. They go every day. You and Mr. 
Carelton were friends at Oxford, were you not? 


Ernest: The best of friends. Hugh is the finest fellow 
I know. I would trust him with my life. 


Lucy (a curious gleam in her eyes): Would you trust 
him with anything more precious than life? 


Ernest (smiling): If it were possible. I am sure of his 
friendship for me. 


Lucy (passionately): We can be sure of nothing ex- 
cept sorrow. 


Ernest: Why, Miss Thornton, you sound pessimistic. 
Lucy: Excuse me. How could I be so inhospitable? 
Ernest: You puzzle me. 


Lucy: And puzzles are so tiresome? For instance, 
that dreadfully tiresome puzzle of why we are 
born. Have you solved it, Mr. Hope? 


Ernest: Long ago. We were born to enjoy life. 


Lucy: Then that but brings us to a greater puzzle. 
Why don’t we? 


Ernest (boyishly): I never thought about it. I sup- 
pose it is our own fault if we do not. 


Lucy (curiously): Do you really believe that? 
Ernest: I suppose so. Do you? 


108 Plays from Browning 


Lucy (violently): No. It is not my fault. If my trust 
is betrayed and unhappiness follows, the fault is 
not mine. 


Ernest: No, in a case like that, I suppose it is not. 


Lucy: Do you think it would be our fault if we stood 
by and permitted our happiness to be snatched 
away from us? 


Ernest: Surely. (Listening.) Ah, I do hear them. 


Lucy: Yes. Then you would think yourself justified 
if you fought to retain your joy in life? 

Ernest: I will be frank. I have never thought about it. 
I believe I would. Here they are. (Pauline and 
Hugh re-enter.) You show evidence of extreme 
haste. 


Pauline: Oh, Ernest. (Carelessly giving him her hand.) 
We will have our walk after tea. Are we late? It 
is Mr. Carelton’s fault. (Accepting tea.) Thank 
you. 


Lucy (pointedly): You are only an hour late. We 
were glad to wait, of course. 


Hugh: AmTI to blame? She expressed her disbelief in 
Eldorado, and a desire to behold the same. Like 
the gallant knight I am, I— 


Ernest (jeeringly): Hear him! 


Hugh: Be quiet, Ernest. Like the gallant knight I 
am, I found it for her, although it took time. 


Pauline: His search eyentually led him to the tea table, 


A Light Woman 109 


Hugh: When we came in sight I said, “Behold Eldo- 
rado, doubting one.” My unerring instinct had 
led me aright. 


Lucy: Do you allow yourself to be guided by instinct? 
Hugh: More or less. Do you? 

Lucy: Is it safe to follow one’s instinct? 

Hugh: In most things, I believe it is safe enough. 


Lucy: In hunting, for instance. Do you think it right 
to follow your instinct to kill? 


Hugh: I suppose so. At least I shoot a sparrow occa- 
sionally. 

Lucy: May I ask why? 

Hugh: Upon my word, Miss Thornton, you are too 


much for me. Because it gives me pleasure, I pre- 
sume. 


Lucy: Would you think yourself justified in killing 
whatever gave you pleasure? 


Hugh: Frankly, I have never considered the matter. 
Pauline: We really did have a glorious ride. 
Ernest: Where did you ride? 


Pauline: Oh, searching for Eldorado. “Over the hills 
and far away.” We looked, incidentally, for 
water lilies. 


Ernest: Was your search rewarded? 


Pauline: No. May I have another cup of tea? Thank 
you, Little Lucy. 


110 Plays from Browning 
Hugh: Ernest, have you seen John today? 


Ernest: He was calling on mother this afternoon. Do 
you enjoy riding, Miss Powell? 

Pauline: Very much. 

Ernest: May I have the pleasure of a ride with you 
tomorrow? 

Hugh (quickly): You are too late, Ernest. She is 
riding with me. 

Ernest (disappointed): Oh, excuse me. 


Lucy (who has not been asked to ride, sarcastically) : 
The day is long. Couldn’t you accommodate both, 
Pauline? 


Pauline (serenely): Thank you, Little Lucy. A good 
suggestion. (To Ernest.) Shall we mount at 
dawn, and hunt the morning on the hills? 

Ernest (triumphantly): It is you who will be late, 
Hugh. (To Pauline.) Ill show you a spot where 
the lilies blow. 


Pauline: So, Mr. Hugh Lack-Lily! I shall have a 
knight with the dawning more efficient by far. 


Hugh (sighing): Such is the reward of failure. Is she 
not unkind, Miss Thornton? 


Lucy: Mr. Hope does not think so. 


Pauline (eyeing the roses on the tea table): What is 
more beautiful than a rose? 


Hugh: Is that a riddle? 


A Light Woman ° 111 


Pauline: No, only an idle question. 
Hugh: Give me time to think. 


Ernest: For shame, Hugh. A beautiful woman, to be 
sure. 


Lucy (sharply): One beautiful woman in particular. 
Hugh: Thaveit! “The light of a dark eye in woman.” 
Lucy (tensely): Death to one’s enemies. 

Pauline: Why, Little Lucy, you astonish me! 


Lucy: I thought I was too insignifidant to cause 
astonishment in anyone. 

Ernest: Miss Thornton is in a strange mood today. 
She had almost reduced me to thought before you 
came. 


Hugh: Miss Powell, which of us answered your ques- 
tion correctly? 


Pauline: None of you. 

Ernest: What is your answer? 

Pauline: Oh, a thousand roses in the moonlight. (Ris- 
ing.) Little Lucy, please excuse me—I will dress 
for walking. 

Lucy: Certainly. 

Hugh (politely): Will you walk with me, Miss 
Thornton? 


Lucy (starting nervously, dropping a tea cup): How 
awkward of me! (Coldly.) Thank you, no. I 
am going out this evening. I must beg to be ex- 
cused. 


112 Plays from Browning 


Hugh (glancing at Pauline): I might as well take 
myself off. 


Pauline: You may walk with us. You don’t mind, 
Ernest? 


Ernest (who does mind, rather): Oh, no, certainly not. 
I hope your memory is not failing, Hugh. 


Hugh: Not at all. I still remember that I made no 
promise. 

Lucy: Why didn’t you? 

Hugh: Make a promise? (Lucy nods.) I was afraid 
I might break it. 

Lucy: That need not have deterred you. (Looking at 


Pauline, bitterly.) It seems easily done. Good- 
evening, both. 


Ernest: Good-evening, Miss Thornton. I have enjoyed 
my tea very much. 

Hugh (to Pauline passing): You can be kind, after all. 
(Exeunt Lucy and Pauline. Hugh hands Ernest 
a cigar.) Let us have comfort. 

Ernest: Thanks. (Affectionately.) Hugh, I fancy I 
discovered something this afternoon. 

Hugh: You astonish me. What? That the sun shone, 
and that Lucy Thornton in a garden was fair to 
see? 


Ernest: You almost guessed it. My discovery has to 
do with Miss Thornton. 


Hugh: Out with it. 


A Light Woman 113 


Ernest: You don’t mind? 
Hugh: No, why should I? 


Ernest: I believe she is in love with you. 


Hugh: What! By the hid dubloons of Captain Kidd! 
You are a romancer! Too much garden on a 
summer day. 


Ernest (seriously): I am almost sure. I believe she is 


unhappy, also. 


Hugh (slowly): There was some boy and girl nonsense 
between us, ages ago, before I matriculated even. 
I have forgotten all about it. Surely she has not 
misunderstood the little attentions I have been 
paying her lately. She is a good little thing, but— 


Ernest (nodding): But she is not—she is not— 
Hugh (calmly): Magnificent, ike Pauline Powell. 


Ernest: Hugh, did you know that I— that before you 
met her—that Pauline and I— 


Hugh: Pauline? 
Ernest: She permits it. 
Hugh: Did I know what? 


Ernest: That I—that we had been together a great 
deal? 


Hugh: Is the fact significant ? 


Ernest: You gain everything you want, Hugh, always. 
I thought if you knew that I— You are gener- 
ous. It is not like you to interfere. 


~<a 


114 Plays from Browning 


Hugh: Interfere? Ernest, what in the—? 


Pauline (entering): Come, brave gentlemen. Let us go 
forth and meet the moon’s bravado. 
(They start toward her as the curtain falls.) 


ACT III 
ScENE 1 


(The time, a month later than Act II. The place is 
the laboratory of Fillipo. Lucy Thornton, dressed 
in a ball costume, enters.) 


Lucy: Fillipo? 
Fillipo (turning): Yes, lady. 


Lucy (flinging down an open jewel case): What would 
you do to possess these? 


Fillipo (with a cry): I’d be rich, rich. Topaz, opal, 
pearl, diamonds, beautiful! Can I serve you, lady? 
(Singling out a bracelet, triumphantly.) I said 
sometime—eh? Can I serve you, lady? 


Lucy (in a whisper): Will you give me poison for them? 
Deadly poison! (Madly) Deadly poison, beauti- 
ful deadly poison. Poison that will burn the life 
from—can you, old man? Will you? They shall 


be yours, all yours. 


Fillipo: Wait till I— 


A Light Woman 115 


Lucy: Hurry! I will wait. They shall be yours. 
(Chanting) Poison, poison, beautiful poison. 


Fillipo (handing her a glass mask): ”Tis safer. 


Lucy (tying mask): Do you mind if I watch you in 
this devil’s smithy? Tell me which is the poison 
to poison her? 


Fillipo (cunningly): Who is she? 
Lucy: Her, Pauline. He is with her. They know that 
I know. He is dancing with her. She is in his 


arms. They laugh at me—I saw them! At me! 
They think my tears flow. I am here. 


Fillipo (to himself): So are your jewels. 


Lucy: What is that in the mortar? Gum? Is the 
exquisite blue in the soft phial yonder poison, too? 


Fillipo: Best leave it alone. 


Lucy: Fancy! What pleasure to carry pure death in 
an ear-ring or a fan mount. What bliss, when I 
dance at the King’s, to give Pauline a lozenge; 
then she will have just thirty minutes to live. 
Hurry, old man, I am shivering with joy. 

Fillipo (holding up a phial, critically): This’ll do. 

Lucy: Is it finished? Oh, that color’s too grim. I 
want beautiful poison. Beautiful, deadly poison. 


Fillipo: °’Tis deadly. 
Lucy: What? But a drop? She’s not little like me. 


She’s no minion. That’s why he couldn’t see me. 
Do you understand, old man? Never looked at 


116 Plays from Browning 


me— One drop will not free her soul from those 
masculine eyes. It can never say No to her pulse’s 
magnificent come and go. 


Fillipo (sneering): *I'would stop a hundred. One 
drop’ll do it. 


Lucy: Why, only last night as they whispered, I 
brought my eyes to bear on her, so. I thought if 
I could keep them fixed on hers half a minute, she 
would fall shrivelled. She did not. Yet you say 
this does it all? 


Filipo: Vd stake my life on it. She'll never know 
what killed her. 


Lucy: I don’t. want you to spare her the pain. Let 
her feel death. Let it brand her—burn her—de- 
stroy her beauty. He is sure to remember her 
dying face. 


Fillipo (soothingly): Yes, yes, little lady, so it’ll do. 
Lucy: Is it all finished? Take my mask off. (Reach- 


ing out her hand for the phial) [If it hurts her, 
can it ever hurt me? 


Fillipo: Be careful— 


Lucy: Here, take all my jewels. Gorge gold to your 
fill. (Hugging phial) Beautiful poison, beauti- 
ful deadly poison. With joy Ill dance at the 
King’s. (Exit.) 


A Light Woman uM be 


ScENE 2 


(The King’s ball, a little later than Scene 1. The 
rise of the curtain shows one of the small refreshment 
rooms off the ballroom. Music is heard off stage. 

Mr. and Mrs. Lee are standing near the punch bowl, 
drinking, when the curtain rises.) 


Mrs. Lee (tapping her foot): Let us hurry back, James. 


Mr. Lee (curiously): Do you never tire of dancing, 
Cora? | 
Mrs. Lee (sweetly): Not with you. I have this waltz 

with you. 

(Mr. Lee smiles, but goes out with her. Hugh 
and John enter. Hugh leisurely fills two glasses 
with punch. ) 


John (accepting a glass, and sinking into a seat): 
Thank you, Hugh. (Drinking.) This is heavenly 
after two waltzes and a schottische. I suppose I 
am getting old. 

Hugh: Nonsense! None of us can hold a candle to 
you when it comes to waltzing, and you know it. 

John: That is kind of you. You look fagged yourself, 
Hugh. 

Hugh (wearily): No wonder. I may as well acknowl- 
edge that I am making a mess of things. 

John: Isn’t your plan working? 

Hugh (moodily): Like the devil. I’m ready to quit. 

John: Is Ernest—? 


118 Plays from Browning 


Hugh (wincing): Naturally, Ernest misunderstands 
me. I have eclipsed his sun, and he eyes me like a 
basilisk. He believes I have been untrue to our 
friendship. He thinks I have come like a thief in 
the night, and deliberately stolen what he had a 
right to look upon as his.. He turns white and 
shaking when I appear. Lately, he avoids me. 


John: You cannot blame him, Hugh. Does Miss 
Powell—? 


Hugh (vehemently): I feel that I am a cur, an un- 
speakable cur, every time I think of it. She is not 
what you thought, what I believed. I like Pauline 
Powell. 


John: How do you explain her actions if she is so dif- 
ferent from our conceptions? 


Hugh: Lack of understanding. She has had no idea 
of the real wrong she was doing. She simply did 
not believe men were sincere in their declaration. 
I doubt if she ever had a genuine emotion until— 
until—— 

John: I understand. Until you educated her. 


Hugh (groaning): That was my plan, John. My 
miserable plan. She should think she was playing 
with me as she had done with Waring. My revenge 
was to come when she discovered her error. 


John: Did she—? 
Hugh: No. To my surprise, she made no efforts to 


entrap me. She was utterly indifferent. My pride 
was touched. I determined to make her love me. 


A Light Woman 119 


John: Naturally. 


Hugh: Yes, Vl confess it all. My cursed vanity gave 
me a sneaking desire to show Ernest that I could 
triumph where he had failed. I felt, of course, that 
in reality I was doing him a kindness. I did not 
consider Miss Powell’s feelings in the least. I have 
kept on until now—a man can’t help but know such 
things—she les as tame to my hand as a late pear 
ready to be plucked, and I, heaven forgive me, for 
such fruit I have no desire, no use, but to fling it 
into the street. 


John: Don’t reproach yourself too keenly, Hugh. 


Nothing is more common than mistakes. 


Hugh: True, but I can’t escape the fact that I have 
involved others. 


John: That is always the case, more or less. 


Hugh (hesitantly): Have you noticed Lucy Thornton 
lately? 


John: Yes, indeed! I was shocked at her appearance 
tonight. 


Hugh (nods miserably): Poor little girl. She can’t 
hide her emotions. It has been forced upon me 
that my meddling is the cause of her unhappiness. 


John: Is it possible? 


Hugh: To be plain, she has taken it into her head to 
be insanely jealous of Pauline Powell. 


John: That is unfortunate, but I fail to see how you 
are at fault. 


120 Plays from Browning 


Hugh: I went to her home a good deal to see Miss 
Powell. I renewed my boyhood friendship with 
Lucy. I was low enough to try the experiment a 
few times of showing her marked attention in order 
to observe the effect on Miss Powell. 


John: A little pebble, someone said, tossed into a quiet 
pool, may cause tremendous results. I wish I 


could help you. 


Hugh: Thank you, John. I have blundered sufficiently 
as itis. My punishment would be unbearable if I 
were to involve you, too. (Rising to return to the 
ballroom.) Heaven knows how it will end! I am 
an egotistical Apollo driving the sun chariot, and 
my chariot is swinging too low towards the earth. 
(Exeunt to ballroom.) 

(Pauline Powell, dressed in a beautiful ball cos- 
tume, enters and sits at the left cf the stage. 
Ernest Hope enters from the right.) 


Ernest: Excuse me. I was looking for John. 
Pauline: He has just gone out with Mr. Carelton. 
Ernest: May I talk to you? 

Pauline: Of course you may, Ernest. 

Ernest: Why have you avoided me of late, Pauline? 
Pauline: Have I avoided you? 


Ernest: It is not like you to avoid an issue. You know 
very well you have. 


Pauline: Well, then. I thought it was best for you, 
best for me, best for both of us. 


A Light Woman 121 


Ernest: Best! (Passionately.) Do you have any con- 
ception, I wonder, of how I suffer? 


Pauline: I am sorry, truly I am. 


Ernest: I saw you riding with him again yesterday. 
You rode through my brain all night carelessly, 
recklessly, over my brightest hopes, my dearest 
dreams. You danced with him tonight. You tor- 
tured me all the while. 


Pauline: Did I? (Compassionately.) Poor Ernest ! 


Ernest: I do not want your pity. Save that for your 
next dupe. (With a sudden change of manner.) 
Forgive me, Pauline. You are not to blame. You 
were perfectly fair with me. You warned me that 
you could never care for me. I thought my love 
would compel yours. And you would have loved 
me. You would have loved me if he had not come 
between us. You (desperately)—-can you give me 
no hope, Pauline? None? 


Pauline (gently): No, Ernest, I can not. And I do 
blame myself. If I had understood, perhaps, I 
could have saved you some— 


Ernest: If you can not it is because you know, now, 
that you love Hugh. 


Pauline (slowly, honestly): I—do not deny it. 


Ernest: Why, even if he loved you, knew he loved you 
better than heaven itself, as I do, loyalty to our 
friendship bade him step aside, bade him control 
his passion. I would have done as much for him. 


122 Plays from Browning 


I trusted him. I would have trusted him with my 
life. 
Pauline: He would not have betrayed your trust. 
Ernest: But he has betrayed, deliberately betrayed— 
Hugh (entering): Oh, Ernest— Pardon me. 


Ernest (rising, white-faced, suffering): I—leave her to 
you, Hugh. She would have loved me, but you 


came between us. 

Hugh: Ernest! 

Ernest: It is too much to—bear. Your friendship was 
more to me than that of any other. My trust in 
you was absolute. I wish—never to see either of 
you again—I am going away (blindly) any- 
where— (Exit Ernest.) 

Pauline: Poor boy—! Hugh? 

Hugh (bitterly, as if to himself): Too late. Eternally 
too late! 

Pauline: Too late? For what? 

Hugh: To save him from—you. 

Pauline: From me? (Blankly.) Save him? 


Hugh (wearily): I knew about Waring and others. 
Waring was my friend, my best friend. Ernest 
was next. He is such a fine chap—lI thought I 
could save him—this. 

Pauline: Then you don’t—? 


Hugh (mechanically): What? 


A Light Woman 123 


Pauline (white to the lips): You have not meant any of 
the things— You have been amusing yourself 
all of the time? 


Hugh: Forgive me, Pauline. I was a beast. 

Pauline (piteously): You have never cared for me? 
Not even when—? 

Hugh (wretchedly): No, I do not love you. 


Pauline: Leave me, please. I am sufficiently humili- 
ated, sufficiently punished. I never realized—I 
did not understand—I did not intend— Poor 
Ernest! Perhaps I deserve—(drooping). Oh, 
Hugh! How could you? Even if you saved 
Ernest, was my suffering nothing? What had I 
done to you? 

Hugh: I was mad, surely, quite mad. I cannot hate 
myself sufficiently. I thought at first you were 
playing with me. When I decided you were not— 


Pauline (in a low tone): I understand. It was too late. 


Hugh: Believe me, Pauline, I would do anything to 
wipe out— 


(John and Lucy enter.) 

John: Oh—excuse us—we were coming for refresh- 
ments. 

Hugh: Be seated, won’t you? 

John: I don’t mind if I do— Old age— 

Eugh: Have you danced yourself to tatters? 


John: Ill confess I am somewhat done up. 


124 Plays from Browning 


Lucy (restlessly): I am not tired. 
(She moves over to the punch bowl and fills four 
glasses. She gives one to Pauline, and then to 
John and Hugh. Her hand is shaking.) 

Pauline (gently): Thank you, Little Lucy. 


John: Thanks. 
Hugh: You are very kind, Miss Thornton. 
Lucy (laughing shrilly): Am I? Am TI really kind? 


John (dutifully): I have the next dance with you, have 
I not, Miss Powell? 


Pauline (starting): The next dance? Yes. Shall we 
sit it out? 

John: I am satisfied. | 

Hugh: Is your card full, Miss Thornton? You were 
not present when— What is it, John? 


John (pressing his hand to his heart): My heart! 
(Attempting to rise, falling backward.) My 
heart is (writhing)— 

Hugh (quickly, raising him): Can you speak, John? 
Is there anything we can do? Miss Powell, call— 


John: The pain is—unbearable. I feel that I have— 
but—a few (gasping )—minutes. 


Lucy (screaming): It was for her. (Shaking her hand 
at Pauline.) My beautiful poison for her. All my 
jewels for one drop of it. He said one drop— 


Hugh: You, too, John. 


A Light Woman 125 


John: Don’t grieve, Hugh— One world passed, 
sooner than I thought. Nearer—Evelyn. (Dies.) 


Lucy (glaring at the dead body): He drank it. It was 
for her. Deadly poison—my beautiful deadly 
poison. 


Hugh: Lucy! 


Lucy (babbling): One drop— She should burn as I 

have burned day and night. (Dancing.) I shiver 
with joy. Ill dance at the King’s— One drop 
(laughing horribly)— Little Lucy! 
(After a moment Lucy sinks into a chair ex- 
hausted. Pauline goes to her. Hugh kneels beside 
John and looks into his face. Mr. and Mrs. Lee 
enter from the ballroom. They see John lying 
dead.) 


Mrs. Lee: Why! What has happened? 
Pauline (quickly): Won’t you help us? Mr. Darrow is 


dead. Lucy is overcome. By all means keep the 
crowd away. Please go quietly and bring some 
one to help. That will be the greatest kindness 
you can do. 

(Exeunt Mr. and Mrs. Lee. Pauline comes to 
Hugh.) 


Paulie: I am sorry, Hugh. 


Hugh (rising): It’s an awkward thing to play with 
souls, and matter enough to save one’s own! 
Pauline! 


126 Plays from Browning 


Pauline: You could not know—Waring and the others 

—and Ernest—it is not your fault. That I 
seemed light is very true. I did not think. (Piti- 
fully.) Really, I did not know—not until—a little 
while ago— Good-by. 
(Pauline turns and is leading Lucy away. Hugh 
watches them depart. When the door has almost 
closed, he starts impulsively as if to follow. Then 
he stops, and goes back to John.) 


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